Ice-Blue, Chocolate-Brown
by LucyFireTen
Summary: Series of Whouffaldi one-shots with variable length and themes. Can go from K to M. Everything from fluff to angst to whump and etc. I gladly accept prompts (via review or Tumblr). Enjoy, R&R :)
1. About Each Other

**A/N: One-shots, long or short, most likely covering every rating from K to M and every situation. They are not in order or related to each other, some might even be AU. The only things they have in common are the Twelfth Doctor, Clara, and the way I see their relationship. You can also send me prompts here in the reviews or on Tumblr (peterbaeafcapaldi), I'll be very glad to write something for you. That said, enjoy yourself and drop a review if you like, I'd really appreciate it :) **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who or its characters, even though I'd like to own Peter Capaldi or David Tennant….but that's a whole other story.

**Title:** _About Each Other_

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 445

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"Clara, I'm not your boyfriend."

He says it firmly, even though not without regret. He has never been so explicit with a companion. Not once, not ever. He has always left the door open for them to enter his life, to take his love and rip his hearts into pieces. But not this time, no. This time heartbreak is so utterly certain that he can almost sense it lingering in the air. He has seen the look in her eyes, seen what she craves for: stopping time, rolling it back, rewinding the days back to when he was still her young, dashing loving Doctor.

Clara between everyone else, he has thought would understand, would know. But she doesn't see him. He knows it, he sees it, and it hurts. He's hurt and he won't deny it. He is willing to wait but now, in this moment, his world is falling into pieces and he just has to put a barrier between the two of them.

Besides, he doesn't want to be her boyfriend. Far from it. He's miles away from something so small and frivolous and human. He doesn't want to be her boyfriend, he wants to be her everything: but right here, right now, she's not able to give him that. Perhaps she never will.

~oOo~

"Never thought you were."

She answers simply, honestly. Of course she has never thought he was. They've flirted, joked, hugged, crossed almost every law about personal space, risked their lives for each other, but even though she has fancied him she has always seen it as a one-way thing. She has never seen his clumsy signs of affection as signs of love: after all, he was touchy-feely with everyone.

"Never said it was your mistake."

That sentence startles her and causes her to re-read every second of their time together, looking for any possible meaning besides the obvious one. That sentence leaves her confused, more confused than she already was, and Clara thinks she might just break. She knew regeneration, knew the theory, but what about the practice? How do you actually handle the fact that the most important person of your life has just changed not only in appearance but also in behaviour, way of thinking, view of the world? That's not something they teach you at school, and it's not something she feels ready to learn. Not now, at least, not like this, when she's still trying to embrace the thought that she'll never hear _his_ voice again.

Then her phone rings and everything changes. She discovers she was wrong about hearing his voice again. Then, maybe, -just maybe- she was wrong about everything else too.


	2. Touches

**A/N:** Thank you all for all the kind reviews and follows and favourites! For TheBigCat, your prompt is on its way, but I wrote this in a rush last night and I thought I'd publish this in the meantime.

**Title:** Touches

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 321

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There are many kind of touches. The touch of a woman, the touch of a man. The hug of a friend, the hit of an enemy. The punch of a rival, the caress of a lover. The Doctor didn't like being touched. He had all sorts of reactions when people touched him. He jumped, he sighed, he felt annoyed, he felt dirty, he felt uneasy and generally speaking he felt wrong.

Maybe it was because this body longed for touch, but not just anyone's. Only hers. Only Clara's. Because when she touched him he still jumped, he still sighed, but at the same time his soul relaxed, even though his body stiffened. He leaned into her touch when he was sure he wouldn't be tempted to ask for more -when they were in danger, or in a hurry, or solving a mystery- and he gifted himself with these small moments of bliss.

Her touch was different. Her touch was warmer and gentler and softer. He loved it and yes, he loved her too. This body was born after 900 years during which he could never experience the touch of someone he loved, and most of all the touch of the only person that had been constant in his life. Clara. During those centuries he had been, for the first time in his life, truly and utterly alone. This body was born deprived, greedy, starving for touch. Clara's touch was the only one he could remember through centuries, the only one he that was carved deep into his skin and flesh in a way a thousand regenerations could not erase.

Sometimes, when you are very tired and very sad, exhausted and desperate and done with life, when you think you can't go on anymore, those times every touch feels like a slap in your face or a blade in your chest. Every touch but the one of that one person you love.


	3. Falling, Crying, Waking Up

**Prompt:** by TheBigCat; -Include this scene: _||"Clara." The tone in his voice stops her. "Clara. Look at me for a moment." He tilts her chin up with one icy finger, forcing her to gaze up. Something flickers in her eyes before a film of yellow slams down over the irises. She shudders abruptly, still looking at him as she crumples to the ground. Her eyes shut, and her body twitches.||_

**Title: **_Falling, Crying, Waking Up_

**Rating: **T (mild angst)

**Words: **1587

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The temptation of the TARDIS landing on a planet where he's never been before is irresistible for the Doctor. He immediately steps out of his ship, and Clara is close behind. His enthusiasm has the power to make her as thrilled as he is and she revels in the sound of his voice as he marvels at the beauty of the cave they enter.

It is a long tunnel with walls covered with violet crystals of so many shapes and dimensions that he loses count. He's lost staring at the ceiling of the cave, lost in the masterpiece that nature is able to produce, given the right minerals and light and temperature and eons of time. He could stay here all day, admiring, enjoying, theorizing. In this incarnation he has a new wonder for the universe, after 900 years stranded in the same place, he craves for new knowledge, new experience, new action and mystery. He's sick of war, of defending a trench doomed to fall.

The cold doesn't bother him and they spend long minutes walking in the icy, dark tunnels. It is only after more than one hour that he notices, as the cold gets more and more intense, that although he has been gazing in awe at the surroundings, speaking aloud all the while, Clara has barely answered with monosyllables. Of course, she isn't the kind of girl who is always talking, but he expects at least some questions. They always ask questions. And he likes it. He always notices when they do, and, hell, he has never noticed before that he misses it when they don't. The silence is becoming almost creepy, if he just stops talking for a minute. He can almost sense a presence, like a spine-chilling breath at the back of his neck, the hair at the nape of it raising…

"You can answer me, you know." he says, just to break the disturbing lack of sound. "It's not a monologue."

"Yes" she answers tonelessly from behind his back.

"Go on then!" he snaps after a moment of silence, still walking and observing the ceiling.

"When do we go back?"

He stops and turns towards her, a worried look on his face: she's never acted like this, so…indifferent.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yes."

The Doctor gives her a proper look: she's pale and her arms are rigid at her sides, hands closed in tight fists. He realizes she must be freezing. Even his cool breath is coming out in small white puffs, now. He casually touches his hand, finding it cold.

"Aren't you cold?"

"No."

She's not meeting his gaze as she speaks, eyes fixed on the ground. He wonders why. He's sure that something is wrong.

"We'll go back, shall we?" he offers.

She turns her back at him without a single word and starts walking swiftly down the path they came from.

"Clara" he calls. She keeps walking, albeit more slowly. "_Clara._" The tone in his voice stops her. "Clara. Look at me for a moment."

He tilts her chin up with one icy finger, forcing her to gaze up. Something flickers in her eyes before a film of yellow slams down over the irises. She shudders abruptly, still looking at him as she crumples to the ground. Her eyes shut, and her body twitches.

"Oh, no, no, _no_."

He sinks on his knees and cradles her head and shoulders on his lap. "Clara. Clara. Stay with me. Look at me. Clara." He leaves encouraging pats on her cheeks in hopes to see her recover. He can see her eyes move rapidly beneath her eyelids and her breaths are shallow and laboured. The back of his hand brushes delicately her jawline and neck, finding her skin ice-cold and her pulse racing. He doesn't need the sonic screwdriver to understand what's happening. He takes her in his arms and runs.

~oOo~

'_Clara. I know you're still in there. Answer me. Clara.'_

Clara can hear the Doctor's voice as a distant, distant whisper. It feels like someone calling her to wake her, even though she doesn't remember going to bed. Actually, she remembers so little after entering that cave…

'_Clara!'_

The voice is louder this time and she decides to open her eyes to answer him, as well as to question him on why would he ever be in her bedroom…when all of a sudden she realizes she can't move.

'_Why can't I open my eyes?'_ she panics.

'_(Thank Rassilon, you're still with me.) Because something else has the control of your body now. (You'll be okay I promise)'_ says his voice, at first a whisper, then louder and finally a whisper again. As if he's been talking to himself at the beginning and at the end of the sentence.

'_Why can we talk then?'_

'_We can't. We're communicating through telepathy'_ he answers simply.

'_You're in my head!'_ she protests.

'_Just brushing your mind. I'm not peeking…(well, I'm doing my best, something will slip anyway. And it's tempting. What does she think of me?)'_

'_I can…(hear what you're thinking).'_ She notices now that her head hurts, and that the pain is increasing rapidly.

'_I know. I can't keep you out if I want to talk like this…and you're not used to it so, well, you are peeking.'_

'_I'm sorry.'_ The voice of her thoughts grows weaker and more high-pitched as the feel of a terrible headache turns into the feel of burning blades stabbing her brain.

'_Don't be. (what if she sees, what if she reads what you- no, no don't think of your feelings for her now.) Enough with this silliness, there's a mind parasite in your head, trying to take over your brain. It has already taken the body, you don't have much time.'_

'_It hurts'_ she cries out. _'Why does it hurt?'_ She wants to focus on what has just slipped from his mind, but the pain is the only thing she can think about now.

He can feel her fear in his mind as her mental scream reverberates in his brain, and his hearts speed up a bit.

'_Because it's trying to subjugate you.'_

'_Help me'_ she begs. She's inwardly crying now, and it breaks his hearts deep inside his chest.

'_I can't help you. It's your mind. I can't tell what you and what's not (as if I couldn't- no! What if you hurt her?) You have to do this alone.'_

'…_h-how?'_

The Doctor pushes her mind slightly deeper into hers, trying to not think about how intimate this contact is, trying to keep his mind as blank as he can because he knows that she can read the surface of his mind.

'_Can you feel me?'_ he asks, 'The difference between my mind and yours?'

'_Ye-yes.'_ At this point Clara is actually sobbing, hot tears rolling down her cheeks even though she is still unconscious in his arms.

'_That's what you must look for…an intrusion…(as if my touch was anything like that bloody parasite trying to invade your mind). Find it, push it away (I know you can).'_

'_I can't. I-I can't.'_ The pain is blinding, deafening. Her head feels like it's about to explode. She feels another presence, coming forward, awaiting, whispering to her, suggesting her to give up…and she might just do that, if the pain is going to stop…

'_Clara! No! Don't you dare! __Don't listen to it!'_ the Doctor screams, sensing her intentions.

'_Yesss, yesss, do give in to me humannn…the pain will stoppp…'_ the voice murmurs treacherously.

'_Clara! No!'_ The Doctor can hear the voice too now, and before he can realize it his mind is crashing over Clara's, pushing out the intruder. The girl gasps in his embrace as her eyes pop open and a light yellow film appears over them again, only to disintegrate in a billion golden particles a second later. The Doctor is ready, letting Clara's head fall back on her pillow, taking a small glass container from the depths of his pocket on sonicing the particles into it.

"I've got you!" he utters triumphantly as he stares at the small golden atoms bouncing furiously in their new prison.

"…Doctor…"

"It's alright now, Clara" he soothes, placing the container on the bedside table and sitting back on her bed beside her.

"Where am I?" she whispers, eyes still closed.

"Your bedroom, in the TARDIS. You should try to get some sleep now."

Her eyes open and search for his. "The pain is gone."

"I know." He takes the container and shakes it lightly, torturing its occupant. "Next time I will do a scan for alien life forms."

She chuckles weakly. "We both know you won't." After a long pause, she adds: "It wasn't your fault."

'_Oh yes, it was'_ he thinks. "Sleep, Clara."

Her eyes close again and she turns to lie on her side. The Doctor stays where he is, watching over her, and he waits until her breath becomes calm and regular. He gets up and gently tucks the blankets well over her shoulders. He leans over her and places a feather-light kiss on the side of her forehead.

"I'm sorry" he whispers before silently leaving the room.

The Doctor never knew that Clara had fallen asleep, but had woken up as soon as he had tucked her covers. She suddenly recalled one of the bits that had slipped from his mind:

'_What if she sees, what if she reads what you- no, no don't think of your feelings for her now.'_


	4. A Little Reminder

**A/N: **Took me a while, writing a jealous Twelve proved itself more difficult than I thought. Set after "The Caretaker". Mild spoilers for that episode.

**Prompt:** by magiclover222: could you possibly do a smutty chapter based on The Doctor being jealous over Clara's relationship with Danny?

**Tiltle:** _A Little Reminder_

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 2489

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The Doctor was cross. Furious, actually. He had pretended to be okay with Danny, but inwardly he was livid. Good enough for her? That little, arrogant soldier boy? Not a chance. Clara deserved better, deserved extraordinary…but he had pretended. He had done that for Clara, because she had said- she had said she _loved him_. Not him _him_. Him Danny.

"_Why would you say that?"_

The Doctor could swear he had heard the sound of his hearts breaking when she had said the words. He hadn't thought it would hurt so much, not like this. Not like someone stabbing his chest open and ripping his hearts out of it. He hugged his ribs, silently staring at the bookshelf without really seeing it.

"Good morning" said Clara's voice from the lower level of the console room.

"If you believe it is…" he muttered.

"In a good mood, are we, uh?" She climbed the stairs and reached for him. "Listen, if it is still about Danny-"

"Of course it's about Danny!" he snapped, "If he thinks he's remotely-"

"Stop it. Stop it right now. You have no right to decide who's good enough for me, clear?"

"No. No, Clara. We are not clear. I think I get a vote. On this at least."

"Why would you?" she asked, startled. "You have absolutely no reason why you should be jealous when you… when you said you weren't my boyfriend in the first place!"

The Doctor stood silent for a moment, then slowly answered: "Which didn't mean that I…don't love you. I can't keep this on, Clara, it's killing me, the idea of sharing you with someone else just drives me insane." He took a step back, hands on the railing, and turned to face the console room. He never learned, no. The always broke his hearts, in the end.

"You- you love me?"

"I thought it resulted obvious. Turns out I hid it well."

He felt her hand touch his shoulder gently, which caused him to jump lightly and turn towards her. Her brown eyes were wide and expectant, and she briefly closed them as she stood on her tiptoes and tried to close the distance between them and kiss him. His body involuntarily inched forward, longing for her, but he pushed her back before their lips could touch. "I'm not willing to play your games, Clara. I still have a dignity. Lots of it. I want _all of you_. I'm selfish and old, and I want to be the only man in your life, in your heart. I won't have you when you say you are in love with another man." With two fingers, he tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. He wanted her to feel what he felt, want him like he wanted her, need him like he needed her. He wanted to be the only thing that mattered to her and the only one she had dear.

"I never said I was in love."

His hearts stopped. "But you-"

"I said I loved Danny. Which means he's dear to me and I didn't want you to mess up with his mind."

The Doctor swallowed hard and looked straight into her eyes, his mouth dry. "And do you love _me_? Are you _in love_ with me?"

She stared at him for a long moment that seemed an eternity to him. "I…yes. Yes" she breathed.

Clara had barely finished the sentence when he pressed her against the bookshelf with his mouth slammed over hers in a searing kiss, his tongue possessing hers, claiming her lips. Her fingers found his hair and pulled him close, fists gripping firmly his grey curls. He let himself go, utter abandon guiding his moves, months of suppressed longing almost blinding him as he savoured her taste, kissing her breathless while she moaned softly. Her gripped her outer thighs and Clara let him lift her, hooking her legs around his waist, urgently unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers as he rocked his hips against hers, his body starting to react to the intense desire that was burning his veins. One hand tangled in her hair holding her close, he pushed the other under the skirt of her dress, reaching for the hem of her knickers. She gasped in his mouth, out of breath, and he moved his attention to her jaw.

Clara laughed softly. "Seriously?" she wondered in a shallow breath, "Against a bookshelf. Not exactly romantic."

"I don't care" the Doctor hissed in a smile, kissing and nibbling down the column of her neck. Her scent was painfully enticing, it was making his blood boil and setting his nerves on fire.

"_I_ care." Simply with a move of her body she made him understand he had to put her down. Clara smiled up at him seductively, causing the increasing blush on his cheeks and neck to heat and redden considerably. "Show me your bedroom, Doctor."

"Yes, _boss_." He picked her up without a warning, ignoring the short, surprised cry she let out and grinning cheekily.

The Doctor enjoyed the feeling of her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her, shivering as she started to play with the short, sensitive hair at the back of his head, tangling her small fingers in it and scratching lightly. He couldn't withhold a little whimper, her ministrations sending his eyes shut for a moment. He was dying to touch her, kiss her, make her his, just take her right there and then against the wall, or on the floor, whatever.

"You're a teaser, Clara" he growled as he finally kicked open the door of his bedroom. He laid her on his bed, too urgently to be defined gentle, briefly noting how the dark blue of his blankets underlined the creamy colour of her skin. The hem of her dress pulled up around her hips, exposing more flesh to his eager gaze as she boldly spread her legs for him.

He slowly climbed on top of her, pressing his lips against hers with quick, heated kisses and pushing his body between her thighs.

"You smell of chalk" she whispered in his ear as she buried her face in his hair, kissing the junction of neck and shoulder. He shuddered at the contact, finding that thanks to her position he had his nose in her long brown curls. He could smell her arousal, her desire, but suddenly he realized that over all that, she smelled of _him_. Not enough, so the Doctor was sure she hadn't slept with Soldier Boy, but still _way_ too much for his liking. He bit down hard and possessively on her shoulder, and Clara gasped in reply.

"You..." he started, leaving a gentler bite on her neck, "...are mine." He tossed his shirt on the floor along with his jacket, as he made sure to mark her body so thoroughly that she wouldn't be able to hide it with scarves or stoles. "Mine." Her hands ran over his muscular shoulders and traced the line of his spine, causing his back and hips to arch downwards.

"The only word I want to hear from you is my name" he breathed, nibbling her lower lip to emphasize his command. "Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"No, we clearly aren't." He immediately sank his teeth in her neck just beneath her ear.

"_Oh- Doctor!_"

"That's better" he grunted.

The Doctor kissed all the bruises he had left and pushed his hands under her dress, lifting it. Clara sat to help him taking it off, then pulled him close for a kiss, slipping her tongue in his mouth to caress his, but he wasn't having any of it: again he took the upper hand, groaning as he set a fast rhythm, tongues battling ferociously for dominance. Her hands flew to the button and zip of his trousers as she moaned in his mouth. Her fingers were deft and quick and his trousers and boxers pooled around his knees in a blink. He was about to take them off, but instead found himself cursing the boots he was still wearing. Clara barely suppressed a laugh and pushed against his chest, inviting him to lie on his back. He obliged and ended up staring at her gorgeous small figure straddling him, grinning down at him after getting rid of his boots and socks, taking in the sight of his body with impatient brown eyes darkened with lust.

"Oh, _Clara_."

The Doctor's breath got caught in his throat and his hearts sped up significantly. She was breath-taking, naked excluding her lacy bra and matching knickers. The intensity of his love and of his desire for her was crashing over him in long, powerful waves; the effects that this moment had on his nervous system were unspeakable. His hands grabbed her face and yanked her down, nothing gentle in his kiss, hard and rough and needy, teeth against teeth and teeth biting down on lips.

"_My_ Clara."

His fingers found the fabric of her bra, kneading at her breasts as her hands traced circles on his chest, brushing over his nipples, nails scratching, mapping his skin and burning him from the inside with a mixture of pleasure and pain that was addicting. Her hips rocked rhythmically towards him, teasing his erection, causing him to shudder and gasp with desire, arching his back and seeking more friction.

"Clara." he groaned against her skin. His whole body was begging for pleasure, for release. He flipped them over. The tension was almost was almost unbearable, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her soft, red lips, nor was Clara trying in any way to stop searching his mouth, her moans and his the only sounds in the room. He dropped one last bite on her lower lip before kissing his way down her body, feeling Clara shiver underneath as he nibbled casually here and there. Without further hesitation he dragged her legs over his shoulders, his arms pulling her closer as he inhaled the musky scent of her centre.

"Oh God."

Clara rocked her hips towards him, urging him to give her what she wanted. The Doctor smiled as he let his breath tease her opening, feeling air rapidly filling and leaving her lungs as she shivered in anticipation.

Finally he pushed one finger inside her, at the same time circling her clit with his tongue, immediately setting a fast, steady rhythm that had Clara moan and cry out his name as she grabbed his grey curls, her grasp so tight it hurt.

"Oh God, Doctor. Doctor. _Doctor_!"

He grinned savagely, her voice sending flames straight to the base of his spine. Adding a second finger inside her, with the other hand he started to stroke himself slowly, groaning against her heat as he did so, lapping unreservedly at her. Clara clumsily bit back a small scream and her hips bucked involuntarily toward his mouth. Delighted and shockingly aroused by her reaction, he doubled his efforts until Clara was pleading and calling his name with the sweetest little cries. He was getting so close himself…

"_Doctor._"

His hand left his manhood to support him as he went up to kiss her ardently. She moaned as their tongues intertwined and she tasted herself into his mouth. Not able to resist her and keep up the teasing much longer, the Doctor peppered wet kisses on her neck, sucking and nibbling, enjoying the way Clara's back arched craving for his touch. Deliberately slowly, he slid his fingers out of her, her breath shallow as she gasped at the loss. He brought his hand to his mouth, eyes locked with Clara's, and carefully sucked his fingers up to the knuckles, fully aware of how her eyes widened as he exaggerated a low moan of appreciation.

"Doctor!" she protested.

"You have my permission to say something else too" he growled against her hear, his voice so husky and dripping with hunger he barely recognised it. "Let it be something right."

"You _bloody_ teaser" she hissed between light kisses along his cleavage.

"Wrong answer" he stated as he bit her earlobe, causing her fingernails to dig into his shoulders.

The Doctor felt her legs wrap tightly around his waist and pull him down as she rocked her hips upwards. He entered her slowly, the sensation sending his eyes shut and his face buried into her neck, grunting throatily as he filled her up, hipbones touching, hearing her gasp of pleasure and feeling her breath rate increase rapidly. Clara felt absolutely amazing, hot and tight and _gods_ so wet for him. He revelled in the thrilling, overwhelming feeling of electricity washing his nerves and his spine, starting a fast, urgent rhythm, erratic and needy, both of them gasping as their hips rocked in synch, meeting each other's movements.

He was desperate to reach his own climax, but most of all he wanted to see her break. He wanted her to scream _his_ name, to experience an intense and incomparable ecstasy only thanks to _him_. He left a line of small bites along her neck as her cries became lower, coming from deep in her throat, her grip on his shoulders excruciatingly strong. He forced his eyes open to look at her, her hair a mess, a thin sheet of sweat covering her flushed skin, hot at the touch, her eyes closed and eyelids fluttering, her mouth slightly open and her head thrown back against the pillow. He could tell she was so close already, her walls contracting rhythmically around him and her legs trembling against his waist. The Doctor gasped at the sudden grasp of her inner muscles, his hands on each side of her supporting him. He felt himself fall over the edge while Clara whimpered and shuddered beneath him, his nerves on fire when he finally saw the proverbial stars, flashes of light exploding underneath his eyelids as he spilled himself into her.

For some minutes -or some hours, the Doctor couldn't tell- they laid in each other's arms, hearts pounding furiously, out of breath, and the Doctor was only conscious of her heat around him and of the hot river of sensations in his veins. Clara shifted slightly beneath him and placed a small kiss on his pulse point, pulling him back to reality. Carefully, he slid out of her and rolled on his side. Before he could realize it, Clara was snuggled against him, her arms wrapped around his chest and one leg draped over him. He hummed in approval and firmly drew her closer, possessively.

"My Clara. I love you" he murmured.

"I love you too" she whispered in reply. "And you…I was always yours, you don't need too…_mark_ me like that to let me know," she giggled.

He covered the two of them with a blanket and shifted to a more comfortable position, staring at her eyes. "I'm sure that Danny won't mind a little reminder."


	5. Hardioran Syndrome

**A/N:** Took me a super long time, and I sincerely apologise. University decided to suddenly get a lot harder, sucking all my time in studying and leaving me too tired to write. Here is the new chapter though, set after Flatline, I hope you enjoy it :)

**Prompt**: by cclarasdoctor: Could you do a fluffy one where 12 gets sick and Clara looks after him for a while, then she catches it and the tables are turned?

**Tiltle:** _Hardioran Syndrome_

**Rating:** T (general fluffiness)

**Words:** 3486

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"You're so pale. Why are you pale?" Clara questioned, following the Doctor around the console.

"Don't be silly, Clara, I'm not pale, there's nothing wrong with me" he answered, moving between controls.

"Oh yes, there is. Are you ill, Doctor?" He turned to face her.

"Don't be ridiculous! Time Lord, me, I wouldn't just" -he blinked, as if his eyes were blurred and he was trying to clear them- "just catch a cold."

She scanned him with the expert eyes of someone who had seen countless ill kids. He was paler than usual and his eyes were suspiciously bright. As they stared at each other, he sniffed, something he basically never did, and Clara didn't miss the light trembling of his hands.

"Doctor…will you come closer for a moment?" she asked with the softest of voices.

"W-what do you want?" he stepped back, circling the console, left hand on it, trying to preserve his precious personal space.

"There's something in your hair" she stated with the same silky voice, following him around the console. "Let me brush it off, will you?"

He nervously ran one hand through his grey curls, still walking away from his companion. "There's nothing." He retreated to the stairs, towards the upper gallery, always facing Clara, struggling to put more distance between them, but she was having none of it. "I should have kept that broom!" he muttered.

"Doctor, come on, I just want to check if you have fever, okay?"

"I'm not sick! Are _you_ sick? I'm a Doctor, I should know-"

"We both know you are not that kind of Doctor." Finally she had him pinned against the back of his armchair, but when she stood on her tiptoes to touch his forehead she noticed his intense stare and the way she had her body completely pressed over his. For a minute, neither of them breathed as a strong blush crept on her cheeks and she stepped away from him. He took advantage of it to slip away, circling the armchair, but Clara rapidly regained her composure and blocked him, pushing him to sit down in his armchair.

"_You stay here_" she commanded.

"Control freak."

"Shut up!" Clara dove her hand in his jacket pocket –he jumped at the contact- and took his screwdriver, handing it to him. "Look, check it yourself, okay? I'm just-" she hesitated. "…worried for you, that's all."

He rolled his eyes, but his expression had softened. He set the sonic, and pointed it towards himself. "See? Nothing to worry about." Only then he looked at the results, and his face didn't reassure Clara at all. "Oh. Right. I seem to be…a little…your fault of course, all that running around to check my temperature…"

"Doctor. Give me the screwdriver. At once."

"N-no" he babbled, sinking in the armchair and hiding the sonic behind him.

Clara wasted no time and pressed her palm flat on his forehead. He trembled under her touch and gasped. "God, you're warm. Really warm. You shouldn't be this warm" she murmured, alarmed. The Doctor had a lower body temperature compared to humans, and his skin usually felt so cool against hers.

"It's nothing…" he protested weakly.

"You have fever! Now do me a favour and go to bed, okay?"

"No, I'll…I'll just take a nap here."

"Absolutely no, Doctor. Get up and off to bed, now."

"Can't."

"Of course you can-"

"No, Clara. I can't as I think I might…" his words trailed off as his head reclined on his shoulder.

"Doctor? Doctor!" Clara called. She caressed his cheek and ran her hand though his soft hair. He was still very warm at the touch and his breath was shallow, his eyes were closed but his body wasn't relaxed, on the contrary, he was rigid and tensed as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

He awoke in a matter of seconds, eyes popping open, and Clara swiftly withdrew her hand.

"What-"

"You passed out" she said, preventing his question.

"Ah." He glanced away, his embarrassment evident.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked. He nodded slowly and she helped him to his feet. "Any idea what it is?"

"Hardioran Syndrome" he answered, "Not…life-threatening," he added quickly, "just highly…debilitating." Thankfully, the TARDIS moved his bedroom closer to the control room, so that Clara didn't have to support him for long. "I'll be unconscious most of the time, but you need to wake me and make me drink. Keep me warm…" he continued as Clara helped him to get rid of his jacket and shoes and tucked him in bed. "There's a small blue bottle in the TARDIS sickbay… third or fourth cupboard to the left I think…give me two drops of that every…four hours."

"Okay. Doctor, are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, yes, don't be silly Clara. It will sort itself in 30 hours or so. Oh, and, Clara, remember, this is very… important…"

Clara couldn't hear what was so important to remember, because the Doctor's eyes drifted close again and he laid motionless under the covers, head on his pillow.

"Oh, you silly Time Lord. This is what happens when you just don't admit you're not feeling well."

She stared at his sleeping form, kneeling near his bed and distractedly caressing his hair, something he'd never allow if awake, but she kept doing it, stroking the curls and pushing them flat against his skull. Clara liked the way his hair felt so soft beneath her fingertips, loving it a guilty way, knowing that he didn't like to be touched.

His breath was still very laboured, but it steadied and relaxed under her ministrations. She wondered if, deep down, after all, he liked it. A bit uncomfortable on the floor, even though a thick carpet covered it, Clara got up and glanced around at the room. She had never seen his bedroom before, and she had to admit he had the most elegant and sophisticated taste, just like in clothes. A leather armchair similar, if not identical, to the one in the control room was also there: Clara dragged it close to the bed to sit later, and left the room to fetch some water and the medicament he had described.

~oOo~ [hour 1]

"Come on, take some." Clara said, offering the Doctor a glass of water while helping him to sit.

He started to drink eagerly, then winced. "It's rubbish," he murmured, eyes dreamy. Clara could tell he was only barely conscious. "What did you put in it?"

"That blue stuff you told me to give you, you big child. Drink all, okay?"

"I'm not ten years old" he muttered groggily, and Clara made him drink, his hands being too shaky to hold the glass steadily.

"Oh, really? That's new" she giggled. He shot her a dirty look.

The girl put the glass back on the bedside table and let the Doctor sank under the sheets again. He moved to lay flat on his stomach, face buried in the pillow.

"Are you still awake?" Clara asked. A small grunt was all the answer she obtained. "You said I needed to remember something, something important."

"There are so-" he made a noise that sounded pretty much like snoring. "-many important things I'd want to tell you." His voice came low and muffled, and a second later he was most definitely snoring soundly.

Clara sighed, rolling her eyes. It was a lost cause. She wondered what kind of 'many important things' he'd tell her, but she resolved that he wasn't in his right mind and probably he didn't mean what he said.

~oOo~ [hour 7]

"Clara…_Clara_…"

Clara awoke with a start. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. Not willing to leave the Doctor alone when he could need her, and since she had to give him water and his medicine, she had decided to stay awake, but she had clearly failed.

"I'm- I'm here."

"Clara…" he whispered.

She realized he was just talking in his sleep, and smiled. Was he dreaming of her? She bit her lip, wondering what he would dream about her so intense to make him talk in his slumber. The book she had been reading to keep awake fell from her lap as she moved to lean over him, kissing his forehead. Apparently he still had high fever, she supposed it had to be the medicine still working its magic…then the thought hit her: she had just kissed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Two of her fingers went to her lips, finding them burning hot and sensitive; she licked them nervously, tasting the salty taste of his sweat. She shivered, trying not to think of how intimate that was.

"Clara." The Doctor's voice came again, sleepy and muffled against the pillow. "Please…no…don't go."

"I'm here, Doctor" she repeated.

He started to move relentlessly in bed, his hands tugging at the sheets and tossing it, searching for something. Instinctively, Clara held out her hand to him, and the Doctor grabbed it tightly. She squeezed back, and he calmed down almost immediately.

"Clara… I've… got you."

~oOo~ [hour 21]

"So? How is it?" Clara questioned expectantly as she helped the Doctor to take a spoon full of soup to his mouth. She was glad to feel his hands finally somewhat cool against hers.

"Edible" he muttered, eyes half-closed. He appeared very weak still, as if the simple act of being awake and sitting with his back against the headboard was too tiring for him.

"Oh, why can't you just say it? I did well! I didn't burn it or anything."

"Even _you _couldn't possibly burn _soup_," he grumbled between gulps. Clara slapped his shoulder playfully as he finished eating silently. As she place the plate back on the bedside table, the Doctor tucked himself under the covers again.

"Feeling any better?"

He answered with a small grunt choked against pillow and remained silent for a long moment. When Clara thought he had fallen asleep once more, he murmured:

"It didn't taste that bad."

Clara laughed. "You must be really ill."

He snored loudly and his eyes were close, but she was 99% sure that he was still wide awake.

~oOo~ [hour 28]

Clara had only left the Doctor for a moment to fill the pitcher with water, and when she came back she noticed he had moved in his sleep, pushing the covers down to his hips. Knowing she had to keep him warm, she sat near him and pulled the bed sheets up to his shoulders again, observing him: he had practically regained his usual skin colour, and his breath was pleasantly regular. She caressed his cheeks absentmindedly, running her fingertips on the very light stubble he had grown. Clara laughed: so even Time Lords needed to shave every day. The thought hit her mind that he looked incredibly attractive like that. She felt her cheeks heat considerably as she shook away that thought: she couldn't indulge in her feelings for him, it only made them stronger. Which was pointless, considered his stark remark that he wasn't her boyfriend. Her cheeks were burning and suddenly her mind was starting to feel so foggy. Did he have that effect on her? She probably was just tired.

She couldn't stop her hand from continuing to touch him, because it was almost involuntary, and when the Doctor awoke under her touch, Clara hurriedly withdrew her hand. For the first time in the last hours, he looked properly conscious and awake. He sat without any help, and Clara moved off his bed; he rubbed his eyes sleepily, then turned to face her.

"Clara. You- Wait a minute," he exclaimed, looking horrified, "why aren't you wearing gloves?" She could only look back at him without a clue of what he was talking about. "Clara, _it spreads through touch_! I am completely sure I've warned you!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She distinctively heard her voice trail off as she spoke, her eyes blurring for a moment…then the world turned around her and the floor seemed so close all of a sudden…

~oOo~ [hour 1]

The Doctor blessed his Time Lord reflexes as he swiftly grabbed Clara's waist and effortlessly pulled her on the bed before she could fall. He shuddered as he felt the gentle weight of her back on his legs. A warm wave washed his body as he became aware of his palms on her and remembered her hands stroking his face a minute earlier. The sensation of her skin on his still lingered, like a burn, and he instinctively pressed one palm on his cheek, cherishing the feeling and filing it in the recesses of his mind. The same hand tentatively brushed Clara's forehead.

"Oh, Clara, Clara. What have you done? You're burning." He didn't bother with gloves, he knew that the syndrome could only be caught once in life. For this body at least, he should be fine.

The Doctor sighed in resignation, gently taking off her shoes and tucking her in his bed. Her chest rose and fell heavily beneath the sheets, her breath irregular. He pushed her hair back behind her ears, feeling a bit guilty that she was in that state because of him…the vision of her in his bed sent another shiver down his spine though, and a small smile curved his lips. He sensed a very vivid day-dream slamming down the doors of his mind, and he pinched himself to regain some composure.

The Doctor left Clara briefly, to shower and shave and to change his sweated clothes. He realized perfectly that he was still recovering and he still felt physically exhausted, so he would _unfortunately_ have to share his bed with Clara. He put on his pyjama, but in place of his usual trousers -he didn't need many layers at night, he hardly ever felt cold and it was more comfortable that way- he took care of wearing underwear, under t-shirt and a long-sleeved shirt. He had some control on his sleep, so he would be able to wake often and take care of Clara, but he needed some rest. Of course he could move her to her bedroom, but then it would be much more tiring and uneasy for him to watch her.

~oOo~ [hour 2]

Every time he watched her sleep -which happened often, even though Clara didn't know it- the Doctor felt the urge of kissing her awake. Obviously, he always resisted. He couldn't show her his hearts, because after all he wanted the best for her. It cost him so much to admit it, but she was so much better off with Danny. He was poison to her, he knew that: he had gained proof of it that day with the Boneless; he made her like him. And Clara, bless her, couldn't see -or was determined not to see- the darkness that sneakily enveloped him in this incarnation. Besides, she didn't love him. Not in _that _way, at least.

He woke her with a pair of light pats on her arm and a muttered "Come on, Sleepy-head." Clara let out a sleepy sound and turned to the side, burying her face in the pillow. The Doctor sighed and lifted her head, moved the pillow against the headboard and pulled her up, pressing her back against it. "Time for your medicine, Clara. Doctor's orders." She didn't open her eyes but he could tell she was awake -sort of.

She brought the glass of water to her lips and drank hesitantly. "It's not as bad as you told me-"

"Because this is the children version. Cherry-flavoured."

"Why didn't you-" she questioned sleepily between sips.

"I don't like cherries. But I know you do."

"Thank you," she whispered, opening her eyes for a moment.

"Shut up and off to sleep, you need rest," he cut short, putting the glass back on the bedside table.

He adjusted her pillow on the mattress again and gently helped her to lay down.

"Doctor?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"Will you…stay?"

"Don't worry."

The Doctor waited for her to fall asleep, the climbed on the empty side of the bed, laying over the covers and close to the edge of the mattress, as far as he could from Clara. He tried to lay facing the wall, or the ceiling, trying to convince himself that he was alone in bed; but he could feel the warmth her body emanated, the laboured breaths she took and the small movements she made in her sleep. Finally, he resigned himself to look at her. Just this once, maybe he could get to fall asleep with Clara at his side. He couldn't resist stretching an arm and running his fingers in her hair, pushing a stray lock behind her ear. He brought the same fingers to his face and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her. His eyes drifted close and sleep enveloped him like a warm blanket as he imagined holding her gently as she slept.

~oOo~ [hour 5]

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, only to close them again in a second as he realized what he was doing. He bit down on his lower lip, cursing himself and this body so weak for Clara. In his sleep, he had unconsciously moved closer to her, protectively wrapping one arm around her, his hand holding hers tightly, fingers intertwined, and burying his face in the back of her neck. He should have known that their bodies were like positively charged and negatively charged atoms, with no hope of escaping their mutual attraction. He did know that. He had just wanted to pretend he was strong enough to resist her, and he had failed miserably.

It was hard to admit, but he had never slept so well in centuries. No nightmares, no waking up after mere minutes of sleep, covered in sweat and hearts pounding wildly in his chest. The simple presence of Clara made him feel at peace with the universe and with himself. However, he couldn't ignore the maddening desire her proximity was lighting up in him, the need to slip his hands under the sheets and under her dress, craving for skin-to-skin contact, the urge to kiss her exposed shoulder that was so close to his lips right now…regrettably, he shook those thoughts away and tried to get up without waking her.

~oOo~ [hour 16]

"Didn't know you could still cook." Clara whispered shakily, taking a sip of soup.

"Of course I can. I am an excellent cook" the Doctor remarked.

"Sure, sure…" she paused for a moment, concentrating on her meal as the Doctor held her shaking hand firmly to help her. "It's very good, Doctor."

"I know."

"Show-off."

"Shut up." He'll never tell her that he doesn't have the patience to cook in this life, and that he had the TARDIS prepare it for him, but he's just content with making her happy.

"Any better?" he asked when she finished.

"I'm tired."

"It's okay. You still have fever. Sleep now." He touched her forehead and she fell asleep in a blink. He smiled. "Carer skills" he muttered.

~oOo~

Many hours later, the Doctor was in the console room, waiting for Clara. He turned to face her as she walked down the stairs.

"Hello."

"Thank you for taking care of me, Doctor."

"You did the same, I was only paying you back."

"Thank you anyway." She smiled.

He smiled back. "Where to now?"

"Home. Please."

His smile faded, but he nodded slowly and started the engines. The TARDIS landed with a loud *tud* and the Doctor opened the doors with a snap of his fingers. "Home it is, Miss Oswald."

"There is something I wanted to give you before I go" she stated, smiling cheekily.

"I- What is it?"

"Do you trust me, Doctor?"

"Yes," he answered, almost too quickly, "but-"

"No buts. Close you eyes."

"Clara…"

"I said. _Close. Your. Eyes_."

He obliged silently, and for some reason his hearts started to drum wildly against his ribcage. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he felt Clara stepping closer to him and gently grab his arm. He shivered, but he stayed still, not opening his eyes.

"C-Clara? What are you-"

"Shhh." The Doctor felt her other hand press against his chest and his body stiffened. Then, suddenly, he felt Clara's body pressed against his side and her lips leaving a soft but firm kiss on his right cheek. He sucked in a breath and his eyes popped open, searching for Clara's. "Thank you, Doctor."

With that she was closing the TARDIS doors in the space of three small steps, leaving him standing there with his hand on his cheek, smiling like an idiot, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and thinking that maybe, just _maybe_, they should get sick more often.


	6. Of Dreams and Sleepless Nights

**A/N:** Inspired by the song "Like I Can" by Sam Smith. Better if you listen to the song before reading. Set some time after Flatline. Enjoy :)

**Prompt:** by vintage1983: I think Sam Smith's 'Like I Can' would make a nice prompt (Not a song fic. Piece based on the song)

**Title:** Of Dreams and Sleepless Nights

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 432

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The Doctor pushed the door open ever-so-slightly, leaning against the doorframe and glancing at Clara's sleeping form in the dark room, his eyes easily piercing through the darkness. He knew he shouldn't be there, watching her sleep, especially not there in her own house, but he couldn't help it. Her declaration of love to P.E. earlier that day had shook him more deeply than he cared to admit. Things like that always did. Kept him sleepless, even. He didn't know why, if it was because he had expected her to keep mourning over the "death" of his previous self forever or if he was just jealous. It didn't matter. No matter who she chose, no other man would ever be able to love her like he could.

Silently, he entered the room, just to see her serene face as she slept. Somehow it softened the raw emotions swirling in his hearts. Rationally, he was aware that P.E. was the best choice for Clara. A man of her age. A safe choice. Not dangerous, not dark, not selfish. Not like him. The boy also seemed to care about her, he had to admit. Rationally, on the surface, he knew all that.

He took some other small steps and knelt near her bed, unable to resist the temptation to stroke her hair gently. Emotionally, deep in his hearts, he didn't understand how she could choose P.E. over him. Not when he loved her this way, sweet and loving and caring but at the same time overwhelming and burning and possessive. Like no one else ever could. Nothing could compare to being born owing her everything and starving for the need to repay that debt.

Clara moved lightly in her sleep. The Doctor pressed the tip of his finger against her forehead, purposefully, intentionally, giving her a dream where she ran away with his previous self and everything was happier and easier. Bow Tie hadn't loved her like she deserved, though, and hadn't known her like the present version of him did. His past self hadn't known her demons, hadn't seen her becoming so much like him, just like P.E. didn't know and didn't see now. He, the Doctor, this Doctor, was the only one who knew everything about Clara, knew everything and loved it all, no matter what. The realization of how similar they were might have stunned him at first, but it had changed nothing between them. He cared for her too much to let anything separate them. No one else could care for her like he did. Love her like he did.


	7. Egomaniac, Control Freak, Game Player

**Prompt:** by AngelHaggis13: Could you write a smutty chapter with a dominant!Clara?

**Title:** _Egomaniac, Control Freak, Game Player._

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 2818

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Clara stepped out of the TARDIS and into her bedroom, turning back a second after. "Doctor, are you sure you are okay?" Clara asked, looking into his pale blue eyes as he leaned out of the TARDIS doors.

"Yes, yes I am. Okay," he stammered. He avoided her gaze and looked down. Clara hated to see him like that, it made her heart clench somehow.

"Come here," she requested.

"Why?"

"I said. Come. Here." He obliged and stepped close to her, looking down at her, finally meeting her eyes, staring at her as if to scan her in search of some damage. "What happened today, it wasn't your fault." He had been unusually silent during the short ride back to her time, back to her flat, but she knew what he was hiding: they had visited this planet, and it should have been a completely safe one according to him, but she had ended up being kidnapped and imprisoned.

"Yes, it was. If I..."

"If you what? Listen, there's nothing you could have done to avoid that, okay?"

"At least I could have saved you." Right. Unfortunately, he had been lying unconscious on the ground, in the forest, and she had simply had to escape by herself.

"I don't need to be saved. You don't need to save me. Saving you, that's my job."

"Rubbish." He inched closer and his hand found her cheek, which surprised both of them. "Stop saying that...Clara…I could have…lost you," he uttered, barely a whisper. Clara could see his eyes bright, utter terror still clenching his heart even though he had tried to hide it.

His stare was intense and the contact of his palm on her face was making her skin electric. "You didn't. I'm right here," she stated. She briefly wondered how their faces seemed to grow closer every second, how had it happened that she could feel his breath on her skin and their noses were almost touching.

"_Clara_," he murmured, urgency in his voice.

Then, in a blink, his lips where on hers and her brain went shockingly blank. She gasped under the gentle pressure of his mouth and instinctively pushed back, her eyes falling shut as she sneaked an arm around the Doctor's neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands found her waist, tugging at the fabric of her dress, pressing his body against hers as he slipped his tongue in her welcoming mouth. She noted briefly how his hair was soft, his lips were cool and he tasted of whiskey and smelled of chalk, but mainly her brain wasn't working. Total, absolute void. She only knew that it was perfect, and addicting, and she was moaning into his mouth and she never wanted to stop. She also knew that at some point, after what seemed like long hours and mere seconds at the same time, she was gasping for air and pulled back abruptly.

"Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. I should never have done that," the Doctor murmured hurriedly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, in which her brain tried to process what had just happened. The Doctor. Kissing her. She couldn't not notice the look in his eyes as he apologised: one of longing and lust and desire and…fear. He feared _rejection_, feared that he had _ruined_ everything they shared.

Clara didn't know why, of all things, she couldn't choose between life on Earth and life on the TARDIS, maybe it was self-defence, thinking he would never be what she needed him to be, that he didn't want to give her all of himself. She had been wrong all along. He had made it impossible for her to understand what he wanted. Suddenly, beside all the love and longing for this man she had torn herself apart for, she felt _so_ angry.

"You...are an idiot."

"I know."

"No, no. _You don't_" she exclaimed angrily. "I...you…_wanted_ that. And everything I can think of is: _why_ didn't you tell me before, _why_ acting up like an idiot and putting all that I'm-not-your-boyfriend show on? _You. Are. An. Idiot_!"

She slapped him across the face. Hard. He brought his hand to his reddening cheek, his look somewhere between amazed and scandalized. One moment later, she was yanking him down by the lapels of his jacket, kissing him, slamming her lips against his. Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth without hesitation, and in a moment he was reciprocating every bit of her enthusiasm, each of them daring the other to kiss harder, bite down on lips, grab hair and tug at clothes until Clara was stepping back towards her bed, dragging the Doctor with her.

As her legs hit the mattress, she pulled him on top of her, struggling to free him of his jacket, which ended up on the floor in a matter of seconds. Swiftly, she broke the kiss and flipped them over.

"Clara. What are we doing?" he asked, somewhere between scared and genuinely oblivious.

She grinned down at him, his hair a mess, eyes dark and face flush. "You…" she pressed her hips against his and ran her hands down his arms, pressing them at the sides of his head, resting her palms over his and intertwining their fingers. "…are going to apologize for being such an idiot. You get that?" He nodded slowly, and Clara didn't miss the way his pupils dilated and his pulse raced beneath her palms.

"I am sorry."

"Not the kind of apology I meant."

"What kind of apology did you mean?"

"Don't you know?" She asked, arching an eyebrow. He remained silent. "You are imagining, though."

"Yes," he whispered hesitantly.

"What are you imagining?" she asked mischievously.

"Many things."

Her fingers trailed down to the hem of his jumper, very slowly, intentionally so, lifting it and the shirt underneath just a little. She felt his abdominals contract as he held his breath. Eyes locked with his, she slipped her hands beneath the fabric and he helped her to take the garments off, throwing them to the side. She pushed him down on the mattress again and ran her palms over his thin chest, exploring the soft skin, brushing his nipples ever-so-gently, tracing the lines of his cleavage, of his strong shoulders and arms, feeling his skin warmer than usual. His eyes drifted closed and he shuddered lightly under her touch.

"Is this any close?" she asked.

"No. No, it isn't" he murmured. Her hands stopped mid-movement and she searched for his gaze. He opened his eyes in a warm, reassuring look. He slowly snaked a hand between them, taking hers and bringing it up to caress his neck and cheek. "Nothing I might have dared to fantasize about could ever come close to this." He guided her hand further up and kissed her fingertips so very softly. "_Clara._" Sometimes he simply said her name but it meant the world to just the two of them.

"Doctor," Clara whispered, bending down to kiss him. Gentle at first, hot full lips meeting cool, thinner ones, then more passionately, a small bite on his lip enough to make him sigh and open his mouth to her, his hips rocking upwards into hers enough to make them both gasp with need. When she found the strength to finally leave his lips, she threw her dress behind her back, not caring where it landed, drinking avidly the Doctor's intense, longing stare as he mapped her body, fully exposed if it weren't for her bra and knickers.

"_OhgodsClara_. You are…so beautiful," he whispered, the tone of reverence in his voice making a subtle warm wave run up her spine. "Clara- I- I love you. Clara. I… want you," he uttered huskily, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Say that again," she ordered back, feeling her own cheeks burning hot, his words exciting her more than the sight of his body beneath hers.

"_Clara_," he said simply. She wondered how many other times he had declared his love for her just like this, without the actual words.

"I love you too," she conceded.

She kissed down his neck, where lean muscles turned into soft and sensitive skin and his age showed. Oh, the times she had wanted to kiss him there, nibbling at the tender flesh, feeling his blood rushing in his veins just like she did now, his eyes shut and his body rocking instinctively against hers as his hands roamed over her back. His touch was light and gentle as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, fingertips barely brushing her skin, worshipping her with a silent kind of wonder that made her nerves tingle. She moaned quietly as he started to massage her breasts with those graceful, beautiful fingers of his, tormenting her hardened nipples, causing her to sigh softly. The Doctor affected her so deeply, he would have her break in mere moments, the idea of giving up control just for this night _so_ tempting. But Clara didn't want that. She wanted to take this with her own pace, take him in her own way.

She shifted his hands to his sides, down on the bed, and her mouth rapidly trailed lower, placing quick open-mouthed kisses on his chest and stomach. His hips bucked when she reached the waistband of his trousers and she smiled, purposely running two fingers along the visible bulge between his legs, feeling steel underneath, his back arching off the mattress, yearning for her touch as he let out a small moan, needy and throaty and low.

"Clara."

"Shhh." Clara soothed, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, lowering them just enough for her to lower his boxers too and finally take him in hand. She couldn't help a grin at the sight of him – regeneration had been oh so generous in that matter. She stroked him once, gently, experimentally, placing a feather-light kiss on the tip. The Doctor gasped and his body trembled violently, his right hand tangling in her hair, his shoulders lifting from the bed. Smirking, Clara pushed him back.

"Down, boy," she commanded, smiling playfully. It was addicting to have the Doctor, almighty Time Lord, so needy, so overcome, just for her, but she wanted more. She wanted control, needed him to let her know he belonged to her. Maybe he was right, egomaniac and control freak she was. Game player too. "Put your hands behind your back." He looked at her with a hint of curiosity, silently accepting her game, and obliged, lacing his arms behind his muscular back and grabbing with each hand the wrist of the other. He let his head fall back on the pillow and exhaled a long, shuddering breath.

Clara returned to her previous task, kissing her way up his thigh and giving a slow, long lick to his length, swirling her tongue around the tip as his hips arched upwards and he took several sharp intakes of breath. Clara could feel his every muscle go rigid and tense. She took him in her mouth, deliberately slowly, then slid her lips back up and repeated the movement, starting a faster pace that had low, loud appreciative hums come from deep in the Doctor's chest and his body thrust up to match her rhythm. She kept holding his hips down on the mattress, not willing to let him set the tempo.

Clara would have smiled if her lips weren't otherwise busy. She felt so powerful, in charge of his pleasure, of his release, being allowed to touch him freely where he was most vulnerable. It was so intimate, the way she could feel his every reaction, every trembling of his body as she cupped his balls to add to the ministrations of her tongue and mouth and pleasured him with small and careful movements of her fingertips, making the Doctor let out a loud groan that sounded a lot like her name. A powerful surge of electricity ran down her spine and she shuddered lightly.

"_Clara_," he repeated. "Clara, I'm- _please I don't want to come yet_," he breathed quickly, words barely distinguishable from one another.

Clara lifted her head to look up at him, finding his face and neck reddened with arousal and a thin veil of sweat covering his body as he breathed heavily, trying to regain some resemblance of composure. She ran her hand up and down his shaft a pair of times, watching his head drop back and push forcefully against the pillow, his teeth biting his lower lip and hips thrusting upwards once more. "What do you want, then?" she teased.

He gazed at her and she could no longer see the blue in his eyes, only grey and black. So much black. "You. I want you," he said firmly, his voice low enough to make her tremble with excitement and desire and he knees turn to jelly. Sometimes Clara was convinced that his voice had some sort of power on her.

"Say please," she managed to say, struggling to regain control.

"_Please_," he asked, voice softer and gentler this time, begging for permission.

"I love you," she said, staring into his eyes, her words almost an apology for teasing him for so long.

"I know," the Doctor answered, smiling this shy smile.

Clara made quick work of his shoes and their remaining clothes, then went back to straddling him, taking him in her small hand and lowering herself on him. She gasped and her head lolled back, eyes shut, as she felt him fill her completely, warm and hard, stretching her just the right way, spreading heat and shivers through her body as she heard the Doctor hiss a small sound, his body giving an involuntary thrust into her, hard and firmly, making her moan and her eyes pop open.

"Oh God. Doctor."

"Clara. Clara Clara Clara _Clara_."

He chanted her name like a prayer, and his hands searched for her body to get hold of her hips. Clara intertwined their fingers instead, pushing the back of his hands on the mattress and using them for leverage as she started to move. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that her body hadn't been designed for a pleasure so heartstoppingly intense, head swimming, nerves on fire, skin burning and muscles trembling. Not that she was able to think, anyway. She could only feel, feel the Doctor inside her, the warmth of his body, the almost painful grip of his hands in hers. As if from a great distance, she could hear her own cries of pleasure mixed with the Doctor's as his hips matched the rhythm she set, building their release together, her heart pounding and her breath shallow as tension coiled in her abdomen.

They had been denying themselves this, them, for so long. Too long. Clara couldn't tell how long it lasted, but probably it would always be over too soon. She no longer knew if she was thrusting down on him or he was pushing up into her, lifting her weight with ease, or if it was both, but she felt the knot of tension in her belly tighten suddenly before breaking, sending a burning river of electricity through every inch of her body, so mindblowing that she would have forgotten her name if the Doctor weren't calling it over and over as her muscles clenched around him and he climaxed right after her, his seed filling her and adding to the overload of sensations.

Clara let her body rest on top of his, feeling as if every part of her was melting in a puddle of warm comfort, neither of them breaking the silence with something different from their exhausted breaths against each other's skin, her fingers disentangling from his only for their palms to meet. Eyes closed, Clara listened to the beat of his hearts, still wild beneath her singles heartbeat, she could feel his blood rush in the veins of his wrists underneath hers. The Doctor pressed a soft kiss on her neck and shifted slightly under her, pulling out of her and making a move to gently roll her off him, but she kept him still.

"Stop. Don't move."

"You can't sleep on me, Clara," he protested weakly.

"Says who?" she provoked.

"Common sense," he murmured, but he stayed still, moving his arms to hold her close, embracing her tenderly. She pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you," he whispered, brushing his forehead against hers. Somehow it was so intimate and almost…domestic for him to do this, so ordinary, she felt uncomfortable for a second and gave a small laugh to relieve the tension.

"Shut up. I want to sleep."

" 'Course, boss," he answered with a smile in his voice.

She waited until she was sure he had fallen asleep to whisper back:

"I love you too." She almost jumped in surprise when he kissed her shoulder and answered cheekily:

"Shut up. I want to sleep."


	8. Demons

**Prompt:** by FanGirlingCirca92; for a prompt listen to: Demons by Imagine Dragons

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the favourites, follows and reviews, guys! You're really kind and amazing and you always make my day!

This fic is inspired by the song "Demons" by Imagine Dragons; the title is the same too. Better if you listen to the song before reading. Set right after Flatline. Enjoy :)

**Title:** _Demons_

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 859

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After what had happened in Bristol, The Doctor left Clara at her house without as much as a goodbye. He didn't want to let his control slip any more than it already had, didn't want her to see just _how_ angry with himself he was. Even if he knew, deep down, that he was more aware than ever of the darkness in his hearts this time around, that he was more than ever convinced that no, he wasn't a good man, despite all that he still wanted to show his best to Clara. He never wanted to let her down. Every time he tried to do better, be better, it was all for her. Even though he knew there was no hope of redemption for him and he expected everything but Heaven.

The Doctor flipped a few switches and sent the TARDIS in the Time Vortex, away from Clara's home, his emotions pensively troubled. Maybe it was what all his companions did, to keep him on the right path, but Clara was special. Different. Despite her saying that she didn't know if he was a good man and that what mattered was that he tried to be one, she refused to see the darkness in her friend. No matter what, she always saw him as a hero, as…well, as the Doctor. Nothing more, nothing less: someone who helped people, who saved the day, who was never cruel or coward, who never gave up and never gave in. She used to be _so_ good. _Too_ good for him. And he had always, always wanted to shelter her, hide the truth from her, protect that bright light in her eyes and act as a much better man that he really was: he was _so_ angry, _furious _with himself for failing at it so blatantly.

The Time Lord paced nervously around the console without a real reason, stopping after a minute to stare at the glowing light of the central column. Clara had showed him that day that hadn't preserved her light at all. His closeness had only made her like him. Maybe, he admitted, they had always been similar, but his influence had undoubtedly been toxic for her.

"_You were an exceptional Doctor, Clara. Goodness had nothing to do with it."_

The Doctor pulled the small console monitor in front of him, staring at the screen for a moment before moving his hands slowly, hesitantly pressing buttons. Clara had been exceptional, indeed. She always was, and the way she had been able to save all those people by herself, without him, being amazing as always, had left him so admired and awestruck at first. At first, before he could realize how he was ruining her. He could try to protect her from everything, but with what was inside him, the doubts, the lies, the darkness and all his demons, there was nowhere they could hide.

On the monitor appeared an image of Clara, her eyes wide and confident, her long brown hair cascading down her shoulders, a knowing smile curving her lips. Even in a simple picture, she appeared utterly beautiful and the Doctor felt his hearts to skip a pair of beats. Sometimes, when she stepped too close to him and looked firmly into his eyes, he felt forced to avoid her gaze, fearful that she might see too much of him. He wasn't even sure of what he was afraid to let her see. Maybe the simple fact that she made his knees go weak when she was so close, maybe he didn't want her to see that. Or perhaps he wanted to hide the struggle in his hearts between his greedy desire to drag her all in and let himself love her, selfishly, let himself corrupt her, and the simple and loving wish to keep her goodness intact, keep Clara what she was: his light in the dark and the only one who could show him how to escape his own demons.

The Doctor let his knuckles and the back of his fingers caress the cheek of the Clara in the image, very gently, the sensitive screen pulsing ever-so-slightly beneath his skin and making it tingle with static electricity. No matter what happened, he would always keep thinking of her as better than him. Even though he was starting to understand that they were so similar, nothing more than what the other deserved, Clara would always be his light. It didn't matter to him that he was unwillingly but inevitably losing that struggle and giving in to his most intimate desires. And he couldn't protect her from himself, unless he let her go. Which he wasn't strong enough to do. Maybe, if it was for the best, for her happiness, maybe he could. What he was certain of was that he would have to face the consequences of the mess he had made, of letting Clara be like him, and soon enough too.

Bending forward, he pressed a very small, very light kiss against the screen, closing his eyes, imagining the little shivers of electricity to be caused by the sheer pleasure of kissing the woman he loved.


	9. His Second Chance

**A/N:** Merry Christmas, guys! Wrote this while re-watching Last Christmas. It's actually some of the Doctor's thoughts during the episode, so **MASSIVE SPOILERS**.

**Disclaimer:** There's also a lot of dialogue from the episode, which I don't own: Steven Moffat wrote the episode.

**Title:** _His Second Chance_

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 1811

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"I'm really here. This is real, yeah?" Clara asks as he confidently flies the TARDIS. He needs to focus. They're in danger, their lives are in danger and he can't think about her. "Doctor? talk to me." Not now. Not about this, the fact he has missed her so much and _gods_ she's here now and he suddenly has this really confusing urge to hold her and never let go. "I never thought I was gonna see you again." Focus. "What's going on out there? What's happening?" The TARDIS is landing, finally. "Oh, that noise. I never knew how much I loved it."

He grabs her arms firmly and looks her in the eyes:

"There's something you have to ask yourself that's important, your life may depend on it. Everybody's life. Do you really believe in Santa Claus?"

~oOo~

"You never told me he was dead. _You said_ he made it back." He's confused. Dismayed, actually. Why would she hide that from him?

"I lied," Clara answers matter-of-factly. "I lied so you'd go home to Gallifrey instead of fussing about me." He feels like his brain and hearts and everything stop working for a moment. _'Oh, Clara.'_

"_She's not alright, you know. And neither are you." _

Now he knows what Santa meant.

They are _so_ alike. Two huge, impossible idiots. "I never found Gallifrey. _I_ lied, so you'd stay with Danny."

He sees realization strike her just as hard as it did him. Surprise, at first, then pain and sadness and guilt. She walks away and he waits, wondering if they will discuss this now. Because this means something. He lied to her because he loved her, because he wanted her happy, because _he thought she would be happy_. And she did the same. It has to mean something. He _wants_ it to mean something.

"So we're dying then?"

No, they're not discussing this now. Because yes, they're dying, and yes, they have to focus on that and she knows it. Because she thinks like him.

~oOo~

He's at Clara's door, nervously waiting for her to open it, his teeth tormenting one of his fingertips out of anxiety. He'd like to say he's worried about them dying, but actually he's more concerned about what Clara's dream will look like. A dream that's supposed to be calm, relaxing, distracting… he wants to be in it, be the safety she craves for, but he knows, knows he isn't solution. He's problems, he's complicated and he won't be in her dream. He's afraid Danny will, and it's going to hurt and he's not ready for it. Ready to die for Clara, whether this is reality or dream, but not ready for rejection. Story of his life.

~oOo~

He thinks she's safe now, he thinks they're okay. Unless it's a dream again. They're back at the base and they're still dreaming. He was wrong. He hates that. But he figures it out and it's for sure now that he's right. He saved the day, here, in the dream. Now he's going to set things straight in the real world too. Take his Clara back.

They hold hands and it's nice, he's missed that, the warm skin, the gentle pressure. It feels good, when it comes to her. He belongs to her, he's not programmed to like it from anyone else. Not even in a dream, like now.

~oOo~

It's a dream again. He hates this, he definitely hates it, this dream thing. He'll never dream again, he swears to himself. Everything he thinks of is not working and yes, he's afraid. In fact, he's getting desperate. Despair makes him do stupid things. Things like… believing in Santa Claus, for one.

That's how they end up on a sleigh, the wind blowing persistently and cold with snow, Clara is sitting behind him and he's listening to the sound of her voice. He can hear it so well. Just how he remembers it. His dreams are so accurate. He likes that. He's going straight to her now. He's not denying himself one single second more without her.

Then, she's hugging him. Tight, pulling his back against her chest. He stiffens, at first, trying to think of something that isn't her warmth or her heartbeat or her breath or her soft hair caressing his cheek, but then he realizes: this is a dream after all. A shared dream, yes, so it is really Clara there with him, but a dream nonetheless. It's dark and she's behind him and she won't even see the look on his face. He fakes annoyance anyway, but he leans into her touch and smiles. That feels good. His cheek is pressed against hers, her arms pull him closer and he responds, pressing back, melting into her. He should allow himself this more often.

~oOo~

The others are gone and Clara's standing near him. So close, looking at him so intensely, her eyes doing that thing that makes them look so much bigger. He still doesn't know how she does that. He'll ask her when they wake up.

"It's a pity we have to wake up, really. It's not really something we do every day, is it?"

'_Oh, Clara, you really think I won't come for you the moment I wake? Do you really think I'll forget this, do you really think you aren't my first thought every very single time I open my eyes?' _"If we stay, we die, Clara."He feels an irrational, overwhelming need to kiss her now. God knows why. It all feels so blurred. Dreamy, actually.

Then, he's awake. He's confident of that. 100% sure.

~oOo~

"I've missed you very much, you stupid old man."

"I've missed you…too…" he doesn't know what to say as the weight of it all crashes over him. He has been given one chance – and one chance only – and he's wasted it. He's late. _62 years late_. He keeps calm but he wants to cry. To scream. Something.

Why didn't he look at the temporal coordinates when he flew the TARDIS here? What was he thinking?

He feels in a sort of dream-state, everything is blurred, he's in the living room and he doesn't know how he got there…but this time it's real, he's awake, he has ruined the only chance he really wanted to have in life and it's unbearable.

"Do you really see no difference in me?" Clara asks.

"Clara Oswald, you will never look any different to me."

He tells her. That he sees her for what she is, not for what she looks like. _He sees her_. Her true self. He remembers the legend of Gallifrey that narrates, that _this_ is what who's gifted – cursed – with regeneration means with the saying "true love". Something that has nothing to do with looks or personality, not with clothing or age or quirks. It's just about who you really are, no matter the else. Like he was the Doctor and she was Clara Oswald.

It's all over now. He might as well tell her flat out that he loves her, just the human way. But what's the use? She's what, 90, now? Which means that this, this is their last Christmas. Because he will leave and never come back. Because, _no_, he can't see her die. Not again. He was _never_ the strong one. He acts like it but no, he's not strong. He needs to know, though, before he leaves:

"So, how was it, then?"

"How was what?"

"The 62 years that I missed," he answers bitterly in a breath, pretending to look at the photos for clues, because right now he can't even look at her. And besides, his eyes are bright and he doesn't want her to notice it… for a number of reasons.

"Oh. How was my life you mean."

"Is there a Mr Clara?" He has to ask. How many others could she give her heart to, when his hearts were chained and enslaved to her?

"No, but there were plenty of proposals."

"They all turned you down?"

"_I_ turned them down!" She makes a pause. "I travelled. I taught in every country in Europe! I learned to fly a plane."

Oh, he feels it, he's going to cry now. He sits down, trying to stead his breath. "Regrets?" _'Regret lying to me, for example? Did you ever just wish you had me back? Because I've been wishing _you _back, every minute since I stepped in the TARDIS and left you here.'_

"Oh, hundreds. I just wish there was time for a few more."

"Yeah, they're always the best part." Sarcasm maybe will help holding back the tears. "Christmas cracker, we should do one. No one ever matched up to Danny, eh?" he wonders, staring at the floor. He wishes too hard that he and Clara were something. He thought they were, earlier, for some moments, but he just can't be sure. She's always, still, so confusing, so unclear about what she feels for him. And he's like that too, he really doesn't have the bravery to ask. He's too afraid of rejection.

"There was one other man." He looks up at her, uncertain about how to feel. "But that would never have worked out."

"Why not?" he manages to ask.

"He was impossible." Could be him, could be anyone. Humans are often impossible. He can't tell. He wants it to be him, though.

They open a cracker and he remembers they've done it like this before. _Last Christmas_. How stupid is that? Same words for two different things. Pudding brains and their idiotic languages. "We should do this every Christmas," he murmurs.

"Because every Christmas, is the last Christmas."

"I'm sorry. I was stupid. I should have come back earlier. I wish that I had."

"Do you, Doctor? How much do you wish that?"

~oOo~

"The TARDIS is outside." No more lies.

"So?" No more arguments.

"All of Time and all of Space are sitting out there. A big blue box. Please. Don't even argue."

No more barriers.

Clara gives a small laugh and smiles.

'_Is that a yes?' _He offers his hand.

She takes the hand he's offering. She pulls him close and kisses him on the cheek, just beneath his ear. His skin burns, but it's a nice burn. He smiles like the love-sick teenager she makes him feel like.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."

His smile grows wider. "Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald."

Clara laughs at the vibrant happiness and excitement in his voice, grabs his hand and pulls him straight out of the door.

"Well, look at you, all happy! That's rare."

"You know what rarer? Second chances. I've never got second chances, so what happened this time? Don't even know who to thank."

He doesn't know who to thank, no, but he stops to thank a few gods, for his second chance is with Clara.


	10. It starts as a hug

**A/N:** Post-Last Christmas smut. No particular spoilers. Happy new year!

**Title:** _It starts as a hug_

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 2781

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It starts as a hug. One long and tight that takes the Doctor by surprise and has goosebumps cover his skin as warmth spreads in his body. Then Clara presses a kiss on his lips, quick and feather-light but daring and hopeful. He doesn't respond –he's too shocked to- but he doesn't reject her either, and he licks his lips automatically as he stares down at hers.

She smiles and he opens his mouth to say something. He forgets what it was when she takes advantage of his parted lips to kiss him properly, bold and confident, her hands suddenly hot on his cheeks and then in his hair. Something awakens inside him as she presses her body against his and he's kissing her back. There's the bitter taste of who has just woken up, but he doesn't care. There's kissing, lots of it, sloppy and hurried and maybe too wet, there are short gasps and small bites, needy moans and hands pulling closer, grasping clothes, tugging at hair. The Doctor shudders violently every now and then, when she kisses him _just so_ and their bodies touch _just there_ –damn Clara and whatever it is that she does to him that makes him feel like a teenager with an hormonal crisis.

The subtle warmth from before is soon turned into a roaring heat burning his nerves and veins and all else that's left of him –which can't be much given that he feels so light, like he's floating. Her body feels so damn hot even through clothes and he wants her, wants Clara like no other woman before and he's so hard in his pants right now that the zip of his trousers is a torture and he'd take Clara right here on the cold metal floor. It's a good thing that her plans aren't different, apparently, as she has already tossed his jacket behind him and is currently working at the zipper of his hoodie as best as she can without breaking their kiss. It looks like a bad thing that he trips on that same jacket and falls backwards, but when he's about to complain about his shoulders hitting the ground the Doctor notices that Clara is on top of him, straddling his hips and putting off her nightie –she's gloriously naked underneath and that's definitely not a bad thing at all.

He spends a good minute staring at her. She's beautiful, and sensual in her flirtatious confidence as she lets him look, drinking his gaze, almost daring him to deny that he's hers, now and always and forever. Some other man might be able to see her flaws, but not the Doctor: he can only see her gorgeous red, swollen lips, her cheeks flush with arousal and her eyes dark with desire, her silky brown hair, a bit messy now, the curves of her breasts and the large amount of creamy bare skin in the form of skinny arms, a flat stomach and well-toned legs.

The Doctor struggles out of his hoodie and moves to get rid of his jumper and undershirt, but he cannot think straight when Clara hurriedly starts to unbutton and unzip his trousers. He groans throatily and his eyes fall shut. He doesn't even try to stop the instinctive rocking of his back arching off the floor, yearning for her touch as he feels his pants being pulled down a little and her hot small hands on his bare skin. A hint of pre-cum reveals her just how much he wants her –if she hasn't figured already– and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know she's smiling when she strokes his length once and rubs her thumb over the tip, teasing him.

The Doctor growls huskily in protest, something about wanting her _now_, but he finds his eyes open and his breath rate three time faster when Clara slowly sinks down on him. He doesn't do it on purpose, but his hips jerk upwards and thrust hard into her, earning a sound between a gasp and a small scream from Clara, then the briefest laugh.

"Impatient," she breathes, voice low and throaty.

He inhales sharply, barely earing her. The feeling of her body around his, hot and tight and soaking wet for him is overpowering and overwhelming and spreads a whole new level of heat in his nerves with crashing waves of addicting, completing, perfect pleasure, so intense that he is unable to think for some long, wonderful seconds of oblivion. When he returns –at least partly– to reality, he mutters an embarrassed apology.

"Not going to last."

Clara laughs again and adjusts her position on top of him, taking him as deep as possible, their hipbones touching. Her eyes drift shut and she bites her lower lip for a moment.

"Same."

For once, the Doctor is sure she's not lying, if the light contractions of her inner walls around his length are anything to go by.

He's still wearing a jumper and undershirt, his trousers and pants are only pulled down till mid-thigh and his shoes and socks are still on, but he couldn't care less. They start two different, fast and urgent rhythms that soon merge into one, perfectly matching each other. He thrusts forcefully into her to meet her moves and it makes them both moan loudly over and over, with a whimper from Clara and a grunt from the Doctor just now and then, some breathy "_Doctor_"s and dozens of "_Clara_"s. His hands find their place on her upper thighs, cupping her arse firmly enough to leave bruises, her own hands grabbing his forearms tightly, digging small half-moons in the flesh beneath his jumper.

Their breaths become more and more shallow, then turn into broken gasps as the Doctor feels them both rapidly get closer to their climax and roughly pulls Clara down for a fierce kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, his shoulders lifting off the floor as he pounds into her relentlessly. They stop kissing, they forget to breathe, his eyes slam closed tightly as he feels Clara's heart beat furiously against his still-clothed chest and her muscles clench around him. She comes with a surprised gasp followed by a moan of sheer ecstasy, her breath hot on his neck as he gives a few other thrusts, reaching his climax when Clara is still riding hers, bodies trembling against each other, nerves set aflame and bones shaken, her name on his lips and flashes of light exploding underneath his eyelids.

The Doctor collapses back on the floor and feels Clara lay on his chest, smiling weakly against his skin. He can't move or think, his brain is pleasantly foggy and his body deliciously dizzy, small electric shocks still making him shiver, the hot waves of his orgasm refusing to leave his body completely. After a while he becomes aware of his breath steading, of Clara's gentle weight on him and of the heavy sheet of sweat all over his face and neck. His undershirt is soaked too. He shifts beneath Clara just enough to slide out of her and she presses two small kisses over his hearts, still hammering with the heat of arousal.

"I love you," she whispers almost shyly, spreading a different kind of heat all over him. He smiles in spite of himself.

"Pointless to say it, now that you've shown me," he murmurs.

"It's never pointless to say certain things," she retorts, looking up at him.

He holds her a little closer and smiles again, pressing his chin against the top of her head, starting to trace circles on her bare back that might or might not be an ancient love poem in Gallifreyan. Clara moves to rest her elbows on his chest, interrupting him, staring down at him.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm waiting for you to say it."

"Oh."

"I understand now that you've said it before. Just not the words."

"Maybe it's because those words don't even start to describe what I feel for you, Clara. They don't mean enough. The English language is so limited in this matter," he explains gently.

"Words are just words, Doctor. They mean what you want them to mean."

He thinks about it for a second, then whispers: "You are probably an amazing teacher, Clara."

"So?"

"I love you, Clara Oswald," he promises, looking straight into her eyes. "What do you make of that?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll find quite some things to _do_."

Clara moves half-sitting on his chest and grins wickedly down at him. The Doctor's breath gets caught in his throat and he wonders if this is another dream, just because, to him, she appears too beautiful to be just human. More like a goddess. Her skin is glowing with light sweat and a new blush is making its way on her face and neck, her eyes are dark again and she stares into his eyes with this sort of expectant gaze, somewhere between a hunter looking at his prey and athlete yearning for his prize.

"Why are you looking at me like…that?" he manages to babble.

"I'm lacking a mirror now, but I think this is my 'bed, now' look," she states firmly, this curious spark in her eyes that he doesn't quite understand.

"I might not be an expert, but you don't look sleepy to me.

"I never said anything about sleep. I said. Bed. Now." To emphasise her point she bends over and takes his lower lip between her teeth, pulling gently, letting go of it very slowly only to trace its line with her tongue. The Doctor can't tell why it feels so amazingly erotic, but it leaves him flustered and longing for more. Now he understands what she wants –because he wants it too all of a sudden.

Clara doesn't bother to retrieve her nightie, forcing him to struggle with pulling his trousers and pants up properly again and to hurry to avoid walking behind her, just so he can look where he's going instead of staring at the smooth skin of her backside.

He shows her his bedroom, and she spends little time glancing around, comfortably sitting on his bed instead, belonging there as if it was hers –actually, it always was. The Doctor is still standing in the middle of the room, still staring at her. He really can't help it, there's nothing else worth looking at when Clara's around.

"Undress for me," she half-pleads half-orders. "I want to see all of you."

He slowly tosses his jumper on the pavement, then tugs his white undershirt out of his trousers, Clara's gaze fixed on him as he gets rid of that garment too, leaving his chest bare for her too see. Next his shoes are unlaced and taken off, then it's the turn of his socks as she watches attentively. Clara gives a small appreciative smile when his trousers and pants pool on the floor and he steps out of them, every inch of his skin exposed to her eager brown eyes. The Doctor blushes as she stares hungrily at him in a way that's shamelessly lustful and wanton –his ears are probably purple red now, considering the way they're burning.

"Turn around," she requests.

"Clara!" he tries to protest. He has called her game-player before –he didn't know when he was well off.

"Do as you're told, Doctor."

He obeys with a heavy sigh. When he faces her again she's grinning contently and crooking a finger at him. As the Doctor steps closer, Clara scoots herself up towards the centre of the bed. He climbs on the mattress and she pulls him close until he ends up between her parted thighs. She presses a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Look at you," she whispers, smiling.

"What about me?"

"You," she answers simply, pushing him back a little and starting to explore his chest with her hands, caressing lightly, counting his ribs with her thumbs, massaging his shoulders and arms, making his eyes drift close and an involuntary hum escape his lips.

Clara kisses him again and it's gentle now, tender, little warm sparks making his lips tingle as he puts his hands on her cheeks. He takes his time to taste her mouth and caress her tongue with his, he pushes her down on the sheets and covers her body with kisses and small licks and love bites as her hands roam all over his back, causing them both to sigh and shiver. The Doctor shows her that he _does_ have some experience at his hands and Clara rewards him with long moans and some muttered obscenities when he sucks lightly at her clit and laps at her, parting the lips of her sex with his tongue and letting out a pleased moan himself as he tastes their shared orgasm. Soon he adds his fingers to help his mouth. She rocks her hips upwards rhythmically as he pleasures her, and he smiles at the way her right hand grips his hair tightly, almost painfully, and her left gives the same treatment to sheets. It's an unexpected turn-on to hear all the "Fuck"s and "Oh, Doctor"s and some particularly colourful comments about his fingers being long and slender and extremely talented.

He makes her come, hard, and after a minute or so spent trying to catch her breath she's eager to taste herself in his mouth, move on top of him and repay the favour, even though she's still panting lightly. The Doctor isn't able to keep track of the noises he makes when he feels the heat of her mouth surrounding the tip of his cock, the calculated moves of her tongue and her small deft hands caressing his balls or the sensitive skin of his inner thighs: there is a long series of profanities in Gallifreyan, though, and at least one hundred little groans that sound unmistakably like her name. His head is pressed back into the pillow, neck tensed, his eyes shut so tight they hurt and his hands closed in fists around the sheets in a vain attempt to anchor himself to reality. Clara is careful not to make him come, she _just_ teases him to the point of insanity, enough to make him beg –which is exactly what she wants.

They take it slower this time -_Clara _lets him take it slower- and the Doctor is grateful for it. She pulls him on top, and he doesn't know if it's a sign of trust or submission or both or something else entirely, but it feels nice –she looks so small and vulnerable like this. They make love in a way that feels very sweet to him, less loud and less frenzied but not less passionate, her legs wrapped around his waist keeping him close and her hands caressing his neck, arms and shoulders as a new sheet of sweat covers them both. He savours the smiles in between her quiet moans: maybe they're contagious because he starts smiling now and then too, or maybe he's just happy to be with her now, like this, skin to skin, without veils, just being honest with each other for once instead of hiding their feelings.

After many long minutes this slow pace stops being enough, for both of them. The Doctor starts thrusting faster and harder almost automatically in response to his need and Clara matches his rhythm instinctively, rocking her hips upwards, pulling him close for a kiss. He can feel her heart beating like a drum and his heartbeats aren't any calmer, he can hear the blood rushing in his veins. He feels heat and electricity burn his nerves more and more as pleasure takes over, tension tightening at the pit of his stomach. His arms hurt with the effort of supporting his weight but he forgets that when Clara shudders beneath him with a new orgasm, pulling him over the edge with her in a second.

They lay in each other's arms, catching their breath together. Clara laughs softly and the Doctor kisses her smiling lips before rolling beside her. She snuggles against him and hugs him tenderly. He kisses her forehead once, then twice and pulls her close, grabbing a warm blanket to cover them.

"I love you." They say it at the same time, and they laugh.

"I'm so tired," Clara murmurs, searching his gaze, her eyes bright.

"I know," he soothes. "Sleep, Clara. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," he assures.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, Doctor," she whispers, only half-awake.

The sound of her voice is enough to lull him to sleep.


	11. How Does the Story End?

**A/N:** A thing I've had in mind for ages, but didn't want to come out. Not sure how it turned out. Short-ish. Fluff-ish.

In the fic there is a long snippet from _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen, which I obviously don't own. Enjoy :)

**Title:** _How Does the Story End?_

**Rating:** T (fluff)

**Words:** 1403

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"Clara," came the Doctor's voice from the upper level of the console room. "Are you reading _Pride and Prejudice_ again?"

"Yep," Clara answered, comfortably sprawled in his leather armchair, reading said book.

"That's my armchair, Clara," he pointed out as he reached her, staring down at her as he stood in front of his chair, facing her. Clara couldn't help thinking that he looked almost intimidating in his usual dark blue suit, his skinny tall frame towering over her. Almost.

"Yep," she answered, sinking further into his armchair and hiding her face behind the book.

"Get off," he ordered plainly with this sort of stark gaze.

"Nope."

Clara liked teasing him like this, bossing him around. Besides, she was more than comfortable in his chair, the scent of leather mixed and soaked with _his_ scent: it made her able to feel him close, in this time when he had contrasting reactions to physical contact.

The Doctor sighed. "May I have my book back? I wanted to read it," he asked, politely but with a strong vein of annoyance in his voice.

"No. I'm reading it now," Clara replied cheekily, an interesting idea forming into her mind.

"But it's mine," he argued.

"You said I could read any book I wanted from your library."

He kept standing there near the armchair, staring down grudgingly at her hoping she would see reason, but –Clara thought- probably knowing that it wasn't going to happen.

"If you want to read it," Clara started, glancing up at him, her voice as velvet-soft as she could muster, "you'll just need to sit here and read aloud to me."

It was something Clara had wanted to ask him for a very long time, something they used to do often when he was young and wore fezzes and bowties. When he used to have brown, long floppy hair, he used to read to her all the time, he used to do the voices. Of course, she knew that this Doctor wouldn't do that. And that wasn't the reason why she wanted him to read to her. The lie she told to herself was that she wanted things to go back to how they were before, simple and easy and instinctive, but the truth was that she simply loved the sound of his voice –_this _voice. The gruff, Scottish one. She could lie to Danny or to herself all she wanted, but the feelings she had always felt for the Doctor had only grown since his regeneration.

The Doctor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly pondering her offer.

"There isn't enough space for both of us," he pointed out. Clara was pleased to see that he looked –to her at least- tempted to accept.

"I'll seat on the arm of the chair!" she lied, a bit too quickly.

Clara couldn't tell if he was considering the possibility, staring down at her but apparently lost in thought, as if fighting a battle with himself.

"Okay," he said suddenly.

"Okay?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah," the Doctor answered slowly.

Clara grinned up at him and moved on the arm of the chair, placing a bookmark on the page she had been reading and handing the book to the Doctor. As he grabbed it and sat down on the chair, Clara moved to sit on his lap. She felt his body stiffen suddenly and the Doctor inhale sharply.

"Clara. What are you doing?" he questioned nervously.

"You're comfy," she stated, straddling his left thigh and pressing her back into his chest.

"Am- am I?" he stammered.

"Yep," she affirmed. "Read to me, Doctor."

Clara smiled and closed her eyes as she felt the Doctor's body relax, exhaling slowly and shifting a little under her weight to find a more comfortable position. She breathed his scent in, chalk and aftershave and clean clothes and something else that was unmistakably just him. She could listen to the beat of his hearts, noticing how it was a little faster and louder than usual, and a little irregular. He adjusted his arms around her and started to read.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, tha-"

"Hey, no, what are you doing?" Clara exclaimed.

"Reading?"

"Read from where I left off!"

"But I want to read it from the start!" he protested.

"Come on, I bet you've read it a thousand times before."

He sighed heavily and she heard him turn the pages. "Whatever you say," he said, before starting to read again. "Occupied in _observing_ Mr. Bingley's _attentions_ to her sister, Elizabeth was _far from suspecting_ that she was herself becoming an object of _some interest_ in the eyes of his friend."

As Clara had expected, it was a pleasure to listen to him as he read, mainly because of certain habits of speech he had. He made little pauses after every few words, as if to catch his breath, something Clara had noticed he always did as he spoke. His reading was very expressive, he put a different strength or emphasis to the words that caught his attention, catching hers as well.

"Mr. Darcy had at first _scarcely_ allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her _only_ to criticise."

The Scottish accent was also something Clara loved. The way the Doctor rolled the _r_ a little, or the way the _c_ sounded a bit more like _k_, or the way the vowels lasted just a tad longer than she was used to. Little things that, combined with that perfect amount of deep and low in his voice, made her legs wobbly if she concentrated too much on the sound. She smiled as she allowed a shiver to run down her spine: she didn't need to stand now.

"_But no sooner_ had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she _hardly_ had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the _beautiful_ expression of her _dark _eyes."

Clara felt the Doctor swallow, hard, and noticed the way his breath-rate increased. He shifted uncomfortably in his armchair and started to read more slowly.

"To this discovery succeeded some others _equally mortifying_."

Clara dared to move a little, seeking that kind of proximity they'd shared when he had been his other self, with her side against the Doctor's chest, sitting on his thigh with her calves between his legs, her hand slipping under his coat in a tentative hug. She snuggled closer to him, nuzzling her head against his neck, and he hesitantly rested his chin on top of her head. She could feel his hearts beating wildly beneath her palm. She wondered why. Her own heart sped up as he brain formulated a hopeful hypothesis. Meanwhile, the Doctor kept reading, but slowly and uncertainly, his voice more a loud whisper now.

"Though he had _detected_ with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was _forced_ to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. _Of this she was perfectly unaware_."

He paused. Clara waited for him to start reading again, but he remained silent.

"Doctor? Why did you stop?" she asked, looking up at him. He seemed lost in thought.

"How does the story end, Clara?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you talking about? You know how it ends." He glanced briefly at her before looking away again, and waited. "I mean, they have their happy ending and all that," she said.

"No no no, I mean, _how _does the story end?"

"I-" she hesitated, suddenly understanding what he meant. "Elizabeth and Darcy put aside their pride, so they're finally able to admit their feelings to themselves and to each other, and to see what they couldn't see because they were too blinded by their prejudices.

"Did you ever learn something from a book, Clara?" the Doctor murmured, his eyes suddenly staring into hers and pinning her in place as if they were examining her soul.

"Yeah, sometimes," she managed to answer. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think I just did," he answered.

With those words, he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers.


	12. Not Jealous

**Prompt:** by DarkestAngel11; Could you maybe write a smutty chapter where Clara gets jealous over another woman fawning over the Doctor?

**A/N: **Set some time after Mummy on the Orient Express. Enjoy :)

To the guest who reviewed and left a prompt: I'll surely do it, just know it might take a while because I have another prompt before yours and I always do them in order :)

**Title:** _Not Jealous_

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 3077

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Clara Oswald had always thought she could handle everything. Everything. She had later decided that no, she couldn't. She couldn't, for example, handle her relationship with the Doctor and her relationship with Danny at the same time. On the one hand, Danny was the perfect boyfriend, loving and protective, and she didn't want to give him up; on the other hand, the Doctor was extraordinary and brilliant and she was addicted to him and everything he represented: time, space, adventure. And she simply _couldn't_ give him up.

Otherwise she wouldn't be here with him now, at some 35th century high-class party on the Moon, wearing a short dress just a little too sexy and drinking her third glass of champagne –maybe to find the strength to stop her thoughts about how handsome the Doctor looked in that elegant black suit or maybe to find the courage to act on them. Either way, Clara felt that the alcohol was starting to have some effect: complicated as her love life was turning out to be, she was beginning to care a lot less as time went by. Until, of course, coming back to the Doctor with her glass refilled, she saw him talking to another woman. A woman in her forties -or fifties maybe- but extremely attractive and sophisticatedly dressed, with a lot of showy golden jewellery and too much make up for Clara's liking.

"I travel, mostly," the Doctor was saying, "all the time, actually."

The Time Lord didn't seem particularly interested in the woman –Clara was aware that he found most humans boring these days anyway- but the same couldn't be said about the woman, as far as Clara could tell. Suddenly she felt her blood boil with irritation.

"Oh, that's _so fascinating_," the woman claimed, stepping a little closer to the Doctor and dramatically running one hand through her long, dark blond curls, "Doctor-"

"McCrimmon. Doctor James McCrimmon," the Doctor affirmed, with a little smirk that Clara hoped was for the name of his old companion and not directed to the woman or-

'_Or_ _I swear to God I'll smite him'_ Clara thought.

"A Scottish name, isn't it? _Naturally_, I had noticed your _exquisite _accent, my dear Doct- James? _I'm sure _you don't mind if I call you James," the woman continued with adulating voice, touching lightly the Doctor's arm –he frowned at the contact- and smiling outright flirtatiously, "_James_, you're Doctor of what exactly?"

"Bit of everything," he muttered, staring uneasily at the woman's hand, which was holding his wrist firmly now.

"Obviously, obviously! I could _immediately_ tell you were a man of letters, _James_, and _oh,_ I do _love_ a _learned_ man," the woman exclaimed, her tone so disgustingly mellifluous that Clara though she was going to feel sick. She rolled her eyes, on the brink of losing her composure. "_Oh_! I'm _so_ sorry!" Clara heard the woman say: the blonde had just spilled half of her drink over the Doctor's shirt –_totally _on purpose, Clara had absolutely no doubt- and was now trying to _clean _him –an excuse for getting her hands _literally all over him_.

At that point, Clara completely lost it. She didn't stay to see the Doctor's reaction to the woman's manoeuvres. Clara practically slammed her glass in the hands of the closest waiter and headed to the restroom. Her control freak side wasn't going to let her violently murder the woman in front of dozens of people –which was what she felt the maddening need to do right now- nor was it going to let her put on a jealousy scene in front of said dozens of people. Not that she was jealous. No. Absolutely not jealous.

"I'm _not_ jealous. _I'm not_," she half-barked to her reflection in the restroom mirror.

She was just so… angry. She wanted to strangle that woman with her bare hands. She also wanted to kiss the Doctor in front of everybody, mark him, brand him, write her name all over his body for everyone to see- yes, drinking had been a mistake. She wasn't drunk, not even remotely, but she had drunk enough to make every emotion ten times more intense. Clara had always been a somewhat jealous person, but never like this. What was the point in lying? The only thing she could think about now was that the Doctor was _hers_, and the thought of another woman flirting that way with him drove her absolutely insane.

She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she breathed heavily in front of the mirror. She wiped it and sniffed.

"Get a grip, Clara," she told to her reflection. In that moment, the door opened.

"Clara? I couldn't find you-" the Doctor started.

"This is the ladies!" Clara interrupted, "You can't come in!" He looked back at the door, as if realizing only now. "Get out!" she hissed.

"You were gone for- are you okay? Is that…did you cry?"

"No!" she snapped, "I just- leave me alone!" She turned her back at him.

"Clara. What's wrong?" he asked.

Clara vaguely noticed that he sounded sincerely worried. Then, a cool hand came on her shoulder and she turned to face the Doctor again. He was close, really close, and he had bent down and forward a little to better look into her eyes. She gasped lightly as their noses touched, and so did he, but neither of them moved. Suddenly both the air around them and half of her body seemed to fill with tension. Clara almost didn't notice that she was holding her breath, and her eyes darted to the Doctor's lips for a second. She couldn't tell if the little champagne she had taken was making her bolder, if it was the jealousy or just months of suppressed feelings, but a moment later she was kissing him, and not so gently either.

Clara was surprised when the Doctor didn't pull back, responding to her kiss with a soft moan instead and letting her slip her tongue past his parted lips. He smelled of some perfume that wasn't hers and that wasn't his aftershave either: she kissed him roughly, possessively. She had never understood why some people needed to physically claim someone else, mark someone as theirs. Not until now. Now, she wanted to do exactly that.

He kissed her a lot more passionately than she might have ever dreamed, timidly cupping her face with his hands, his skin cool against hers in a curiously pleasant way as her hands tangled in his hair- God, she had dreamed to do that.

Clara broke the kiss to gasp for air, but her hands remained on his face while his fingers travelled hesitantly down her arms and to her waist. She could see his eyes dart to her mouth now and then, but mostly she could practically _feel_ one hundred unanswered questions just waiting there, on the tip of his tongue, as if he had yet to choose which one to voice first. And she was quite sure she didn't have answers for most of them, so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in that moment: kissing him again to prevent him from talking.

This time he did try to protest, but his body seemed to act on his own for a little while, almost by instinct, before he could manage to break the kiss.

"Clara," he murmured.

"Shh. Please. Shut up," she pleaded with more small kisses on his lips, trying to drag him closer by tugging at his cravat and at the lapels of his jacket. "Please. Don't talk."

"I- I can't."

"Of course you can."

Clara ran her hands on his back, tracing the curve of his spine and of his buttocks. The Doctor shuddered under her touch, his eyes drifting close and his mouth opening with a small, needy sigh. She kissed him again hungrily and he let her, let her push him against the entrance door of the restroom and press her body against his, heat suddenly burning her cheeks and warming up her body from the inside.

"I want you," she stated.

She wanted him, now, even though she knew it was wrong for it to be like this, so possessive and jealous, and she felt somehow guilty about it, because she did love him, very much so, but the way she wanted him now had little to do with love and a lot to do with wanting him to be hers just because she couldn't bear him to be anyone else's.

The Doctor reversed their positions, trapping her between the wall and his lean body, bringing her legs to wrap around his hips and their eyes at the same level. Her shoes fell on the floor. He initiated the kiss this time, forcing her to make it more gentle and slow.

"Clara. Are you drunk?" he asked, looking sternly into her eyes.

"No," she answered confidently.

His expression softened. "I believe you." He let his forehead sink forward and touch hers. Her breath caught in her throat for an instant: his eyes were of the darkest and most beautiful shade of ice-blue she had ever seen, and seemed to look straight through her. "I need to know why you're doing this."

Clara bit her lip nervously. "I love you," she said simply.

He smiled very shyly, but his eyes shone with happiness. He remained silent for a few moments before answering:

"I have waited so long for you to say it. But that's not the reason why you kissed me tonight, am I right?"

"That just… happened," she half-lied. He had the power to clear her thoughts, though; just his gaze was enough to remind her how intensely she loved him, how she had always loved him. "But it could be the reason why we… make love, tonight, if you want."

The Doctor smiled again at her boldness, then rubbed his cheek against hers affectionately and whispered in her ear:

"Oh, Clara. Clara, Clara, Clara. You know that I can't tell you no."

Clara didn't even try to hide the smile on her lips as he started to kiss and nibble at the skin between her jaw and neck, leaving small hot sparks wherever on her skin his mouth went, his hands at the back of her thighs pushing her up and closer to him. She felt as though the Doctor was finally allowing himself to let go, pressing his face against her neck and into her hair, inhaling her scent with short and sharp breaths, rocking his hips gently into hers.

"I love you," he murmured.

Clara pulled him in a searing kiss, one that had him thrust his hips forward harder, with a small needy groan. The grip of his hands on her thighs became firmer, stronger, and he slipped his fingers beneath her dress to lift it as she tugged at his jacket, trying to push it down his shoulders. The Doctor let her down on her feet to toss the jacket on the floor, but Clara didn't stop pulling him down for increasingly heated kisses, at the same time finding the key in the keyhole behind her and closing the door: she wasn't going to let anyone interrupt this.

Clara got rid of her knickers, noticing with a smirk the large wet spot at their centre, before letting the Doctor pick her up again, urgently lifting her dress to grind her aching clit against the visible bulge in his trousers.

She ran her hands through his hair as they kissed feverishly, ruffling them as much as she could, relishing the softness of his grey curls only to pull resolutely at them shortly after. He let out a small sound of both surprise and pain, and she took advantage of it to map his mouth with her tongue some more. She wanted to kiss him so thoroughly that he wouldn't want to kiss any other woman but her. The Doctor, on his part, was returning every drop of her enthusiasm, pressing the back of her head against the hard wooden door, each kiss feeling like liquid fire was pouring down her throat to set her whole body aflame. Clara could tell that the Doctor would have preferred to make it gentler, but he seemed to automatically obey to her rhythm.

The Doctor nearly lost hold of her legs when Clara swiftly sneaked one of her hands between their bodies and hurriedly undid his belt and unzipped his trousers, tugging his shirt out of them and firmly palming the fabric of his pants over his erection.

"_Clara_," he groaned.

His trousers pooled on the floor as she rubbed the heel of her hand up and down his length, making his breaths shaky and his groans deeper and louder. She made sure to catch with a kiss every sound he made, letting the vibrations reverberate through her and make her shiver. Clara slipped her fingers under the waistband of his pants and yanked them down. She wrapped her fingers around his cock, feeling it thick and hard, warm against her burning hot skin, and the Doctor eagerly pushed his hips into her touch.

The Doctor broke their kiss to stare intensely at her and Clara could see his eyes dark with need and his cheeks red with arousal. Seeing no trace of doubt in her gaze, he lifted her a little more, let her align their bodies and carefully sink down on him.

To Clara, the world seemed to collapse on itself to only include the Doctor and herself. She tightened the grasp of her thighs around his waist, desperately trying to drive him closer as waves of pleasure rolled down her body and broke free through her lips in a long series of short moans. Her nails dug into his shoulders, probably leaving marks even through the thick fabric of his shirt. She felt the Doctor's legs shake. He was trying to muffle a string of grunts and "Clara"s against the skin of her neck, with little success. She urged him on with a move of her hips and grabbed her thighs more firmly, starting to thrust into her following the demands of their pressing need.

Everything felt amazing to Clara, from his body inside her to his hearts wild against her chest. Especially the sound of his voice low and overcome, repeating her name over and over. That was utter perfection, it had her grin between moans and shook something inside her, a strong feel of belong but also of possession. She ripped open the first two buttons of his shirt to kiss and suck at the soft skin of his neck, leaving little purplish marks, then moving to expose his muscular shoulder to bite down on the skinny but strong muscles.

"_My_ Doctor," she growled.

He gave a sound that might have been of agreement, and quickened his pace.

Soon Clara was feeling her spine on fire and her legs trembling, and she briefly wondered how she had gotten so close in so little time. She was finding it hard to breathe, to think, she couldn't keep her eyes open. She pulled the Doctor in a heated kiss, groaning into each other's mouth until the load of pressure at her core exploded, shaking her body with long waves of breath-taking pleasure, making her inner muscles contract around the Doctor's body and pulling him over the edge with her.

The following seconds where so blissful and fogged that Clara wondered if she hadn't passed out. She could hear her blood and her heart loud in her ears. The Doctor was silent, she could feel him breathing heavily with his face buried in the crook of her neck. She forced her eyes open and kissed his cheek. He swallowed hard, and when he talked his voice was still husky.

"Clara."

"I liked that. Very much," she said, laughing softly.

"Mmh. I would say the same, but it would be an understatement."

He slid out of her and let her step on the floor, but he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her lingeringly, not willing –she guessed- to let the moment be over quite yet. Her eyes fell close again, but they popped open a second later, when she heard fumbling with the door handle and then knocking on the door.

"Hello? Why is the door close? Is this out of service? Is there someone inside?" asked a petulant voice that Clara immediately recognised as the one of the woman who had been with the Doctor earlier.

"_I can't believe it_," Clara exclaimed. "It's that _bitch_ again."

"Clara!" the Doctor protested when he heard her language.

"Shush, we've got to get out of here!"

The cleaned themselves quickly and dressed again messily and rapidly.

"I can hear noises, I know there's someone in there," complained the other woman from the outside, knocking insistently.

Finally, Clara opened the door and exited, immediately followed by the Doctor.

As the woman saw him, she let out a loud gasp that sounded absurdly comic to Clara. Clara couldn't blame her: never mind the mess Clara had made of the Doctor's hair, but his lips were swollen with kissing, he had trials of red lipstick and love bites all over his neck, his shirt was missing the top buttons and was only partially inside his trousers. Not to mention some white-ish spots very visible on the black fabric of said trousers. Basically, he screamed sex loud and clear, and Clara couldn't have been happier.

"Ja-James!" the woman babbled, completely shocked. "What where you doing in the ladies restroom?"

"He was with _me_," Clara affirmed, pulling the Doctor down for a kiss that he reciprocated after a little hesitance of surprise.

The woman made some noises of scandalized indignation, then entered the restroom and slammed the door behind her. Clara giggled heartily.

"Is that what this all was about? You were jealous of me?" the Doctor questioned suddenly, somewhere between amazed and confused.

"No!" she laughed, "I'm not jea-"

A scream from the nearby room interrupted her. Again she recognised the blond woman's voice.

"What was that?" the Doctor asked.

Clara grinned, realizing what had happened. "I think I forgot my knickers on the floor," she explained, her grin wider than ever.

The Doctor rolled his eyes in mocked disapproval, grabbed her hand and ran with her to the TARDIS, both of them laughing like children.


	13. The (Last) Hurrah

**Prompt:** by AngelHaggis13; could u do a smutty chapter where the doctor, after Clara yells at him and then leaves him in _Kill the Moon_, realizes how much she means to him and that he can't live without her and he plans to show her on their trip on the Orient Express?

**A/N:** Since I wanted to develop a lot of things in this one, it came out really long.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and the continued support, I really appreciate it.

**Title:** _The (Last) Hurrah_

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 3349

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For the twelfth time in an hour, the Doctor's steps traced a full circle around the console and stopped in front of the main control panel, leaving him to sigh heavily as he looked at the monitor and placed his hands on the edge of the console, letting his weight be supported almost entirely by his arms.

He missed Clara, painfully so, to the point the emotional ache had turned into the physical sensation of his hearts clenching sorely in his chest and an anxious tension coiling just beneath his diaphragm. He had tried not to think about it, tried to push it down deep inside him, as that was his usual way of dealing with the passions of his hearts in this incarnation, but it hadn't actually worked. He had ran out of things to do in less than a week, considering that usually he spent most of his time looking for places that could impress or interest or amuse Clara; travelling alone had suddenly no appeal whatsoever. So he had been forced to think, think about what had happened.

He had gotten it all wrong, he understood it now. It had been a miracle that Clara hadn't really slapped him hard enough to make him regenerate –he was sure she was absolutely capable of it. What he had intended as a gesture of trust and respect for humanity's –mostly Clara's- capabilities she had interpreted as a patronizing and dismissive act. He wasn't sure of where is error was exactly, if in overestimating Clara or underestimating the situation, or even just in his attitude with her. What he could understand was that, apparently, he should have at the very least remained by her side instead of flying away. His way had made her upset, made her scared. He had wanted in no way to make her scared, he felt very guilty about that part.

That wasn't the worst, however. The worst was that she had told him to go away –a _long way_ away- and to not come back, and she had shut the door before he could run after her, shocked as he was.

Nonetheless, he had resolved that he had to try and ask for forgiveness, no matter what she had said, because to begin with he was good at everything but giving up, and secondly if there was one thing he would never give up without a fight that was Clara Oswald. The TARDIS too, on a second thought.

"I can't lose her. I can't," he realized in horror.

Clara meant everything to him. Even though his love had been beaten and wounded after her declaration of love to P.E. it had not diminished in any way: he still loved her too much for words, too much to do as much as consider a life without her. After all, it wasn't about being reciprocated. This version of him was tied to Clara in ways that transcended simple love or companionship, even the vague human notions of 'true love' or 'soulmate' fell into nothingness in front of what Clara had done for him and what he felt for her as a result. She had torn herself apart for him, imprinted herself in his timeline; even before that, she had saved him in more ways that he could count. In response, his love was filled with a gratitude, devotion and utter adoration so intense that every so often he was convinced that his hearts would crack under the weight of it all.

So no, there was no way he could lose her so easily.

~oOo~

"What are you doing here?" Clara asked, the door of her flat only half opened.

He had set the landing for six weeks after his argument with Clara, knowing her and knowing that she would necessarily need some time to cool off some of her rage. He didn't want to wait to little and end up only discussing with her again, but he also didn't want to wait too much and make her even more cross. There was something different in her. Her hair was longer, maybe. No. No, not longer. Shorter.

The Doctor chose the words carefully. "To apologise."

"Do go on," she said plainly.

She seemed still angry, even though maybe not irremediably so, but he wasn't sure.

"You won't let me in?" he asked, startled.

"No," she answered after a little hesitance, leaning against the door.

"I am sorry if I disrespected you-"

"You _did _disrespect me," she interrupted.

"Right. I'm sorry I disrespected you. I'm an idiot and I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't want to scare you or put you in difficulty put you in danger-"

"You put _Courtney_ in danger. You put _the human race_ in danger."

"Can't I just say I'm sorry?"

"It won't change what you've done. I-" Clara paused and sighed heavily. Her expression softened slightly. "I understand you thought you were doing the right thing. I do. But it wasn't, okay? I'm not- I was really angry with you. I was. But I'm- I'm not, now. I just- It's just- I can't do this anymore, Doctor, I spoke with Danny and- and he knew this was going to happen, that you were going to ask me too much one day. Doctor, I think… I don't think I can do this, the double life, anymore."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor questioned, confused, a corner of his mind starting to panic.

"I mean… no more sneaking off in the TARDIS. No more… travelling together."

His hearts missed a couple of beats as the words crashed over him in an ice-cold wave. So she had already taken a decision. She wouldn't even let him have a say in this, in them. Of course, there wasn't a 'them'. Not really. Not anymore. His hands searched behind his back for the wooden surface of the TARDIS, for support. He felt tears starting to form in his eyes, blinked and swallowed hard to regain his composure. He took all the emotional tempest inside him and _pushed it all down_.

"I had the whole day planned out, you know?" he said quietly, wondering how he would ever find the words to say goodbye. There weren't. There weren't words for that. "I had tickets." He had always thought that people like them were never meant to part. Never. "For the Orient Express." There couldn't be words for their goodbye. They had never been invented, never been thought of.

"The- the real Orient Express?" Clara voice came, shaking him a little.

"Yes, of course, the real Orient Express. One of them anyway. There were many trains with that name."

"We could… go."

"Where?" he asked, confused.

"On the Orient Express."

He felt the smile on his face even before her words could fully sink into his brain.

'_Oh God. Did she just change her mind?'_ "But you just said-"

"Shut up, I know what I said. We could go as, you know, one last adventure. A last hurrah."

Clara's lips curved ever-so-slightly as the Doctor's smile faded.

"Is that what you want?" he asked after a pause.

"It is." She smiled a little and lightly touched his chest with her hand. His eyes followed her movement. "Look at you, all dressed up," she murmured, apparently noticing only now his elegant clothes.

"So what? You are too."

Her smile turned wider and gentler. "Doctor, I'm in pyjamas."

"Go dress up, then?" he invited, gesturing at the TARDIS.

Clara walked past him and into the TARDIS, doing as he asked, leaving him to stare at her door without really seeing it, trying to gather the strength to pull himself together.

~oOo~

"To our last hurrah," the Doctor murmured.

He probably looked dreadful now, glancing at the floor, unable to meet her gaze, both his hands humbly holding his champagne flute. He was sure had worn happier faces at a funeral.

"Our last, yeah. I mean- it's not like I'm never going to see you again."

"Isn't it?" he asked.

He had half an idea to fall to his knees and just beg her to stay, but he was too proud to do that. His eyes were bright again. Luckily, it was dark in the corridor for Clara to notice.

"Is it?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"I thought that's what you wanted," he stated tonelessly.

She looked alarmed, and rapidly stepped closer.

"No, what I mean… you're going to come round for dinner or something, aren't you? Do you- do you do that? Do you come round to people's houses for dinner?"

Did she really mean that? Did she really think he could show up every once in a while, at her house, probably with P.E. around, living with her, touching her, being comfortable and intimate in her personal space, only to see her? She overestimated him. He wouldn't be able to take it. No, this was going to be the last time for them. He had to run away and find new companions, new problems to keep him busy; try to forget her, convince himself she was happy with P.E., even though he knew she would keep hunting him for centuries in his dreams.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I do that?" he lied, his face still an almost emotionless mask.

"I don't know. I thought you might find it boring."

"Is it boring?"

"No."

They were staring at each other, his blue eyes looking down to meet her brown ones. He could stare into her eyes forever. There was something magnetic in them, he often wished he could just drown in all that deep, dark brown. But this would be the last time he saw her: so many things would remain untold, undone, unthought-of even. He had never gotten the chance to know how it felt to run his hands through her hair with this new skin, or to kiss her with these lips. His gaze darted to her mouth for a millisecond and he lost himself in that small phantasy. Then, Clara moved closer to him and, almost automatically, he let his flute fall on the floor, cupping her face with both hands and pressing his lips against hers.

The Doctor stopped thinking as his brain tried to register the sudden overload of sensations: her soft lips, the taste of her lipstick and of champagne, the scent of her skin in his nostrils, her cheeks hot under his palms, an electric jolt running down his spine and tugging firmly at something inside him at the level of his lower abdomen.

Clara not only responded to his kiss but deepened it, letting her flute fall just as carelessly as his and bringing her left hand behind his neck to yank him down, her right pulling him closer by his cravat, parting his lips with her tongue.

The Doctor moaned into her mouth, eyes shut. He didn't know how long this would last, but he would make the most of it. He found himself with his back against the wall, Clara's body pressed against his, glass breaking underneath his shoes, and dared to slide his hands down her back, to her arse, bringing her as close as he could, rocking his hips into hers.

When they parted it was only for him to kiss her again, unable to stop himself. Only Clara could stop him now from taking this further, but she showed no intention to, her hand running through his hair and down his neck perfectly, scratching lightly, pulling urgently, triggering a series of small electric explosions along his nerves. His kiss rapidly grew needy and hungry, hands tugging impatiently at her dress, fingers slipping beneath it and muscles trembling at the feeling of her smooth skin.

A few steps later, made uncertain and clumsy by their refusal to stop kissing, they were in the Doctor's sleeping compartment and he was pushing Clara down on the bed as he tossed his jacket on the floor. Her gloves and shoes reached it in a moment. He climbed on the bed, between her legs, barely leaving her time to breathe before kissing her again with a desperation and an urgency that were as far from his usual behaviour as possible.

She hadn't said a word yet, and he had left her little time to, instinctively melting one kiss into another. He didn't want to hear her reasons for this, if it was mere curiosity or a lingering sentiment for his younger self or even just her missing Danny… he didn't want to know. If he could have this memory, this moment of them, if he could experience just once in his life what it was like to be with Clara Oswald, skin to skin, in this body that was meant to be one with hers, then he would take the chance.

It was only when his hands caressed their way up her thighs, pushing her dress further up, that she gasped in his mouth and tried to voice her thoughts.

"Doctor-"

"Shh," he pleaded, covering her mouth with his hand gently. "Please. If you want to explain, don't. Shut up." If she talked, he'd break down. He didn't want to break down, not now, not like this. "I don't care why you're letting me do this, I promise I'll disappear from your life the moment you fall asleep, I'll take you back home and you'll wake up in your bed. I'll be gone."

Clara's eyes grew wide as the Doctor spoke. She took his hand in both of hers to reveal a smile underneath.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, shaking her head lightly.

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"The reason why we're doing this is… is that I love you, you idiot."

"Oh. _Oh_."

"Yes, oh."

He smiled weakly at her, eyes bright with unexpected joy. "Clara," he said simply, mouth dry, words failing him once again.

"So, was this a _last hurrah _kind of thing for you or you're still in for this?"

"I'm- I'm in… I- it was more an _I love you_ kind of thing."

"Good," she stated, pulling the Doctor down for a kiss.

Clara kissed him hard, demandingly, forcing his eyes to close, running her hands through his hair and down his neck, undoing his cravat and unbuttoning his shirt as he tried to balance his weight on his knees only to keep his hands free to remove the cufflinks of his sleeves. When he finally managed to, Clara was quick to get rid of his shirt; he felt her hands explore the skinny muscles of his arms, shoulders and back and then slide to the front. Her fingers found the waistband of his trousers and trailed down to trace the line of his erection, making his body tremble and Clara smile in the kiss.

"Clara," the Doctor whispered against her lips, beginning a sentence that she didn't let him finish.

"Shh. You said it yourself: shut up."

He wanted to protest about his shoes being still on, because they were leaving a bunch of minuscule shards of glass over the end of the sheets and, even though he didn't really care now, he would regret it later that night. He soon forgot anyway, as Clara was being very distracting, with her right hand trying to unbutton his trousers and with her left guiding his hand underneath her dress to touch lacy underwear with a warm wet spot at the centre, something that he found ridiculously arousing for some reason and that made his cheeks suddenly burning hot and itchy. Even more distracting was the sight of her as she pushed him off her to take off her dress, only to pull him back down to kiss and nibble down his neck and cleavage and return her hands to the task of lowering his trousers. A corner of the Doctor's mind wondered how Clara could do it all so deftly while he was barely functioning, simply able to thrust his hips into her touch and grunt softly under her kisses, eyes closed so tightly they hurt.

Clara pushed him back once more to sit and take off her knickers, then rapidly tugged his pants and trousers down his hips and pulled him close again. She kissed him passionately and the Doctor responded instinctively, matching her rhythm, letting his hands wander over her smooth skin and massage her breasts, earning a small moan in reward. Clara caressed his back, tracing his spine and cupping his arse, pushing him down, a little closer to what they were both desperate for but were delaying out of fear of the future or of heartbreak or of separation, not willing to admit that they were already too far tied up together to stop.

The Doctor was the first to give in, with a "Need you" and a "Please" together with her name. She took him in her hand and her skin was hot compared to his but almost cool compared to the heat of her sex when he entered her gently. Clara let out a sound between a hum and a moan as he groaned, burying his face in her neck. He breathed heavily against her skin, hearts pounding, overcome by the sensation that was all new after one thousand years and new to this body, which was violently oversensitive, especially when it came to Clara. She encouraged him to move by calling his name urgently, kissing his shoulder gently and giving small thrusts of her hips up into his, which had his body shudder.

It was difficult for the Doctor to move like he wished to with his trousers and pants stuck at his calves, but Clara made up for it by arching her own body against his, helping him to set a fast pace to match her need and his. He vaguely noticed the embarrassing number of times her name left his lips, but Clara didn't seem to mind. She was louder than him however, her breaths sharp and her voice throaty as she moaned without much regard for the other passengers' sleep while only groaned quietly between kisses on her neck and shoulder. Somehow her cries of pleasure sent his own nerves on fire.

It didn't last long, or at least so it seemed to the Doctor. Maybe they wanted each other too much or had waited for this too long, or perhaps their bodies matched so perfectly that they were made to give in to each other in a matter of minutes. Probably all three. Clara broke first, her fingernails digging into his shoulders and her muscles constricting around his body, causing his own climax to catch him almost suddenly, a shiver running down his spine as he spilled himself inside her.

Afterwards, the Doctor undressed completely to lie down under the blankets with Clara, hoping the sheets were thick enough to not feel the small pieces of glass on top of them. Clara rested with most of her body over his, given the small dimensions of the bed, and he held her close gently.

"Will you leave anyway?" he asked in a whisper.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed, looking up at him. "I'm sorry. I've had a wobble. It's a big wobble, but it's fine. Forget about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you?"

"No."

Clara laughed. Then, in the distance, the Doctor heard voices.

"What was that? Did you hear that?" Clara asked.

"You probably woke up half of the train," he commented.

Clara punched his arm lightly. "I'm serious."

The voices came again, and the Doctor realized it was someone screaming. "Came from the galley, I think."

Clara sighed. "This mummy thing. It's a thing, right? You knew there was trouble," she stated with a slightly accusatory tone.

"Yes," he answered slowly.

"Oh, _God_," she exclaimed in exasperation, "I bloody hate you."

She got out of bed quickly and started to pick up their clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Get dressed," she commanded as she tossed him his shirt. "We've got a monster to catch," she said, grinning. The Doctor grinned back at her.


	14. Sleep

**Prompt:** by anonymous; could you do something where Clara gets really hurt on an adventure gone wrong, and a bit more of the Doctor's sympathetic side comes out as he gets her back to the TARDIS and fixes her up. Some hardcore fluff too.

**A/N:** Set right after _Mummy on the Orient Express_. I didn't know if with "hardcore fluff" you meant very fluffy fluff or fluff with sexy tendencies, so I tried to do both. Both is good ;)

A lot of anons reviewed in the last chapter: thank you so much! I have a couple of things to say:

For AngelCapaldi: Sure, I'll write that :)

For the anon who asked the prompt with the Doctor getting a rare disease: yes, no problem, I'll do it.

For MrsDoctorClara: I don't think that what you asked fits the way I see the relationship between the Doctor and the Master and what I think of the Master's intentions. I'm sorry, but I think I'll pass this time. Maybe you could ask some other author?

**Title: **_Sleep_

**Rating:** T (mention of injuries and blood / some angst / fluff / sharing a bed / not fully clothed)

**Words:** 2313

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The Doctor held Clara tight against his chest as he carried her, her arms weakly wrapped around his neck, her head resting just below his chin as he tried to keep her unconscious form as still as possible as he ran through the jungle.

It had been a stupid mistake, really. His mistake, of course. She had demanded him to show her some planets, and so he had done. But in the joy of finally having her back with him he had forgotten to assure himself that the planet they visited wasn't hostile in that particular period. They had been captured. Locked up in prison. He had taken too long to free himself, long enough to find her in her cell, unconscious, covered in blood and so pale he had thought, for a few petrifying moments, that it was already too late.

The relief of finding her alive had been absurdly brief, soon taken over by a boiling feeling of absolute fury at the sight of her injuries. His memories of the events that had brought him here, a few metres away from his TARDIS, were blurred, confused. His clothes were soaked in blood. Some was Clara's. Some could be his. Right now, he couldn't tell. He could have broken bones now and not realize it. He couldn't feel, he couldn't hear or see, he was acting merely on instinct. The only thing he was aware of was the beat of Clara's heart, slow and feeble against his torso, resonating in his hypersensitive ears. He thought he could feel his hearts slowing down too, following the rhythm of hers as though desiring to stop together.

The Doctor gathered enough presence to draw a controlled breath, trying to calm himself down. He could still save her. He had to save her. He couldn't lose her. His throat went dry at the thought. He held her closer and murmured words fell from his lips without his permission or rational thought.

"You're not leaving me. Don't you dare."

He kicked open the doors of the TARDIS and reached the med bay, laying Clara on the small bed there. She had lost a lot of blood, even if he had ripped strips of her white shirt to patch up the worst. His improvised bandages were spotted in red.

The Doctor worked relentlessly on her, cleaning the wounds on her face and arms, stitching a deep cut at her temple, applying healing unguents on the injuries and wrapping them in sterilized gauze, treating the bruises over her face. He tried to convince himself that she was going to be alright now -after all, she would heal quickly thanks to his careful cures- but inside him was a storm of feelings between concern and fear and rage. All of this was his fault.

He ripped what was left of Clara's shirt to check for more injuries, sighing in relief at the sight of her skin nearly intact, save a few light bruises. He couldn't avoid the shiver that ran down his spine in seeing Clara with only her skirt and a bra on as he sat in the little space left on the bed, by her side. The Doctor chastised his stray thoughts, carefully taking her in his arms again and moving her to his bedroom, so she could be more comfortable, leaving her only for a moment to fetch a clean shirt, sitting on the bed beside her, watching her, guarding her.

~oOo~

When Clara woke up, the first thing she became aware of was her head pulsating painfully. She winced, feeling more pain over the rest of her face and on her arms. She remembered. Being captured. Being separated from the Doctor. Torture. She shuddered.

"You're awake."

Her eyes popped open at the sound of the Scottish accent she knew too well. The light was dim, but she could distinguish an unknown bedroom around her and a shy smile meeting her gaze in the direction the voice had come from. A bed. She was laying in a large, soft double bed with dark blue blankets, and the Doctor was by her side on the mattress. There was a strong hand with long fingers firmly holding hers. The Doctor's hand.

"Hi," she murmured, responding to his smile with one of her own.

His eyes were bright with a mixture of sadness, concern and tiredness, and she was surprised in reading so much in his face, since this version of him usually let nothing transpire. Not when he knew she was looking, at least.

"Hey. How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been run over by a truck."

He scanned her with his screwdriver. "You will be fine," he stated, looking at the results, almost more to himself than to her. His hand held hers more tightly. "What they did to you-"

"-wasn't your fault," she interrupted, "I'll be okay, I promise. Maybe I'm not right now, but I will be. I don't really want to think about it now, okay?"

That seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded slightly. There were many things Clara was scared about but, as he knew just as well, physical pain wasn't one of them. His hand found her cheek and his thumb stroked her skin gently. She became aware of plasters on her face. Her head hurt and it was difficult to think, but she could focus on how strange all that physical contact was for him.

"I thought I had lost you," he said, almost answering her question.

She had rarely seen this Doctor so open. So openly _scared_. He looked so vulnerable like this, plain concern and fear in his eyes, and she felt vulnerable too. This, this was exactly what she was afraid of. Situations where she wasn't in control. Of herself, of her feelings. She had only just realized how addicted she was to him, how she _loved him_, and there he was, saving the day like the hero she would always fall for.

"I didn't know you could do this," she commented, changing the topic, observing the neatly wrapped bandages on her arms and finding a similar one around her head as she reached for her temples.

"Do what?"

"Be… a doctor. Like, a real, proper doctor."

"I _am_ a real Doctor," he protested.

"Of course you are." Clara laughed softly, moving to pull him into a hug. His body stiffened even more than the usual, his arms cautiously kept off her body.

"Uh- Clara?"

"Mmmh?" She held him closer, burying her face against his chest. She was used to his objections about the hugging, and he didn't get a say in it.

"Do you- uh-"

Wait. _Wait_. She had her nose and forehead pressed against his chest. His very shirtless, _very naked_ chest. She pulled away abruptly, feeling her cheeks burn suddenly.

"Doctor! Why _on Earth_ aren't you wearing your shirt?!"

"Because _you_ are wearing it, Clara." She looked at herself and realized only then that the shirt she was wearing wasn't her own. It was thicker, a little larger and at least a full foot longer. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows to leave her injured forearms free, maybe for him to check the state of the bandages. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I had to check if you had other bruises under that."

Clara looked back up at him and her heart made a flip when she noticed the bright red on his cheeks, the tip of his ears nearly purple with a blush.

"It's okay," she assured, feeling her own cheeks on fire. "Wait. No. Where's my shirt?"

"Why do you care? You have lots of shirts anyway. And it wasn't even a nice one-"

"_Doctor._"

"I- had to rip it. I had to stop the bleeding…"

"_You made bandages out of my shirt?_"

"Yes…"

"You're buying me a new shirt," Clara said, punching his arm. Which revealed itself to be a very, very bad idea. It was definitely not the right moment to notice how hard and solid his strong muscle felt under her small fist, and the motion reverberated through her arm up to her head, intensifying the pain.

"I have no money."

"Then I'll keep your shirt."

Damn. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. He gave her raised eyebrows and darkened eyes in reply, betraying a desire that she had never suspected was there and that tugged fiercely at her abdomen. His hand found her cheek again and it made her shiver. There was infinite tenderness in his gaze, somewhere between apologetic and –dared she say it?- almost _adoring_. She wanted to open her mouth to say something, but her throat had suddenly gone dry and the next thing she knew was that her eyes had dropped to his lips and his lean and muscular chest, heaving rhythmically with quick breaths. When she looked back up, the Doctor's face was closer and a second later was kissing her, beautifully soft, thin lips pressing urgently against hers, chastely but firmly, speaking of suppressed feelings and need for reassurance.

It was over even before Clara could start kissing him back, lasting only enough for her brain to register how wrong this was and how right it felt. Then the Doctor pulled back and muttered an apology, something about being sorry and weak and foolish, but she wasn't listening. Before he could say another word, she tugged him back close, lacing an arm behind his neck. He didn't protest, letting out a small appreciative sound when their parted lips met, kissing her hard and passionately, his hands cupping her face, almost begging her to never let this end. A bruise on her arm ached against his bony shoulder, holding him in place. She felt a small explosion of pain at her temple when their teeth touched. And she couldn't bring herself to care.

She only broke the kiss when she got so lost in the feel and taste and scent of him that she forgot to keep breathing through her nose, pulling back suddenly with a gasp.

"Clara. What are we doing?" he whispered, lips only a couple of inches apart from hers.

"Sleeping," she answered after a moment.

Sleep. She needed sleep. She couldn't think straight now. She had to rest, and maybe afterwards she could get to sort out what was happening. Tell Danny that the last time she'd told him "I love you" she was saying it to the Doctor. Hell, tell Danny that she had just lied to him, pretending she had dumped the Doctor when she hadn't. If that wasn't cheating, she didn't know what it was. Just the simple use of the word "dump" was absurd, she had used it twice now, almost involuntarily, as though her mind had already decided that the Doctor was her boyfriend, no matter what he said. She would have to deal with all that. But later.

The Doctor pushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear a nodded. "You should rest. Take care for a few days. That's quite a concussion you have there. I'll be right here if you need me." In saying so, he yawned, and Clara saw the need for sleep written all over his face.

"You look awful. How long have you been awake? How long have I been out?"

"You? Several hours. I just- haven't really slept since…" he trailed off.

"The Moon?" He nodded. "When was that for you?"

"About a month ago."

"God, Doctor, that's crazy even for you." He smiled shyly. She sighed and pretended to ignore him, adjusting the pillow and laying down on her side, although keeping an eye on the Doctor. "So? Come here," she half-ordered.

"What?"

"Yes, come on. Under the covers. Spoon me."

"_What?_"

"Do as you're told, Doctor."

Clara heard him sigh and start unlacing his boots, then heard the sound of those being laid on the floor. He lay next to her under the covers, keeping a respectful distance, but she pulled him closer, tugging his arm around her, and pressed herself against him. He shivered.

"Clara-"

"Shhh. Sleep."

He huffed and reluctantly calmed down, slowly placing his head closer to hers and holding her more tightly. Clara realized her mistake as he did so. She was tired, yes, but still hyperaware of him, his scent, the little layers between them. She shifted her position a little. Crap. She usually slept on her side, but not _this _side. And obviously she couldn't change position or she would be pressing the injured portion of her head against the pillow. Again and again she tried to adjust herself against the Doctor's torso in a way that didn't have her bruised shoulder press against his hard collarbone, or the thick fabric of his trousers rub uncomfortably against her legs. She went on moving like this, her back pressed against the Doctor's front, until he outright whimpered into her ear. She stopped. She felt an unmistakable bulge against her bum.

"_Clara_. Stay _still _for a moment," he pleaded.

"Why?" She couldn't help but smile cheekily.

"You _know_ why," he answered grumpily. It was his turn to shift restlessly for a moment.

"I wish I could do something…" she started, sneaking her hand between his thighs. "…but I have to rest… doctor's orders."

"Your doctor knows _exactly_ what he's about," he growled, firmly grabbing her wrist and placing it on her pillow again. "you're not doing anything, _or anyone_, for a few days."

"Such a serious professional," she giggled, even if it made her head pulse.

"Shut up."

"…I love you. You know that?" she asked, turning to look at him over her own shoulder.

He smiled the most genuine and involuntary smile.

"I do now," he stated, placing two fingers to her temple. "Sleep."

His smile was the last thing she saw before falling asleep abruptly.


	15. Mate for Life

**Prompt:** by apollostowel; how about a marriage proposal? You can make him Mr. Suave, or have him completely bungle everything, or something in between.

**Title:** _Mate for Life_

**Rating:** T (fluff)

**Words:** 1761

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"Okay, you were right. It really is amazing." Clara breathed, completely stunned at the sight that had welcomed her as soon as she had exited the TARDIS.

When she had asked the Doctor where they were going, he had simply smiled mischievously and stated that it was a surprise, "but it's the most amazing place I've ever taken you to," he had added.

And here they were, in a large corridor, maybe two or three meters wide and dozens of meters tall. The roof was transparent, as was the floor, so she could see the open space, stars and galaxies and planets, both over and underneath her. It would have been like floating in the middle of the universe, if the walls of the corridor in front and behind her hadn't been huge aquariums, the transparent walls this time opening to the view not of stars but of water and corals and colourful tropical fishes. He had taken her to see open space. He had taken her to see the deep ocean. But never both, never like this. It was stunning, she didn't know where to look. The contrast between the black of the sky and the luminous blue-green of the water was so intense and unusual that it should have felt wrong, but it didn't. It was absolutely spectacular.

"Thank you," Clara said after a long time contemplating that marvellous sight.

She pulled him close and stood on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his lips, running her right hand through his soft curls. She loved his hair long like this, he was never allowed to cut it short ever again, she had made it clear enough to him in the few months they had been together. Truly together, as a couple, kissing and touching - she would never get tired of being finally free to touch him. He would babble something every once in a while about humans being sex obsessed, but she hadn't heard him complain yet.

"Care to explore a little?" the Doctor asked as they parted.

"Do you even need to ask?" she replied with a grin, pulling him by the sleeve of his coat at first, then holding his hand.

He followed her lead, happily telling her everything he knew about that planet above their heads, that galaxy under their feet, that huge shark swimming placidly in the distance. As always, Clara alternated listening ravished to every word he said and watching him as his own enthusiasm lighted up his handsome features, multiplying those wrinkles she loved around his eyes, inflaming that spark in his pupils that she had always adored and that only appeared when he was entirely focused on and devoted to a single topic, usually the beauty around them or his admiration for the human race. However, as she had realized maybe a little too slowly, his eyes would shine just as intensely simply every time he looked at her. She didn't know if her eyes were as telling as his when it came to her feelings for him, but she made sure to tell him that she loved him often enough for him to never doubt.

"Why are we alone?" she asked eventually, interrupting his explanation of the eating habits of moray eels. They had been walking for quite a while now, but there wasn't a single soul around.

"It's not open to the public yet. It's the day before the inauguration. Advantages of time travel," he joked, smiling knowingly. "So we have the place all to ourselves. I told you, it's a surprise." He winked at her, but his voice trembled slightly and his grip on her hand tightened imperceptibly, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Is there something you are not telling me?"

"Of course, Clara. _It's a_ _surprise_."

"And you're not telling me what it is?"

"I'll tell you when I'll tell you. Come, I want to show you a thing."

"You're changing topic!" she exclaimed, laughing softly, but she followed him when he grabbed her hand.

They didn't walk for too long a way, passing by the most beautiful fishes and aquatic creatures, until they arrived to a tank with very vivaciously coloured plants but no inhabitants, or at least she thought so until she looked more carefully and finally saw them. They were only two fishes, and she had to say that they were _really _ugly: small, mud-brown and deformed, with one fin bigger than the other and creepy, bulbous empty eyes. They swam very close to each other, almost touching, as though trying to maintain as little distance between them as possible. Clara expected the Doctor to keep moving, but he stopped, smiling at the creatures, gently pressing a finger on the glass of the wall to see them approach, curious.

"Doctor? Why did we stop?"

"These. I wanted to show you these. They're called Kria Areos. Their native planet is Keriandas."

She gave a closer look, attempting to guess the reason of his interest.

"Why are they so special? Do they have superpowers or something? They don't look very interesting to me."

"No, no, of course they don't have superpowers, Clara. But you see, they are very, very interesting. Their name in the language of Keriandas means "lifelong mates". Once they choose a partner, they mate for life." He paused, moving his finger to see one of the fishes chase it intently, immediately followed by its partner. "They bond so profoundly," the Doctor continued, "that they can't bear to stay mere inches away from each other." He glanced at her briefly, giving her a small smile. "Don't you see, Clara? You're like this fish."

"Ugly and with no superpowers?" She sighed. "You really know how to compliment a girl, Doctor."

"No! No, no, no, I meant- I meant that you are my mate for life, Clara."

She smiled at that. "Am I now?" she asked, looking up at him, playing with the curls behind his ear, scratching lightly where she knew it drove him mad. He leant into her touch for a moment with an approving hum before regaining control.

"_Stop it_, stop with the touching. I'm trying to ask you something."

"And what would that be?" she laughed softly.

To her wide-eyed surprise, the Doctor took her hand in his and dropped to his knees.

"Clara Oswald. Will you marry me?"

Her brain shut itself off.

"_What?_"

"I-" he stuttered, frowning, "I said, Clara Oswald, will you marry me?" he repeated, this time a bit louder.

"I know what you said but- why? Why would you say that?"

With great remorse on Clara's part, she could practically see his hearts sink, the light in his eyes gone in a fraction of second.

"Well, evidently because I thought you would say yes! What an idiot I am. I'm... I'm sorry- no, not sorry actually, I'm disappointed. I really thought-"

She stopped him mid-sentence, pressing her hand on his mouth.

"Stop. Stop. Shut up. Let's start over. Hello, I'm Clara Oswald, I'm universally known as an idiot and sometimes my mouth opens and blah blah blah the words just come out. _Yes_, I love you, _yes_, I'll marry you, please don't change your mind?"

She saw the expression of hurt changing into an incredulous, bright smile as she removed her hand. "Really?"

"Really."

"You're not changing your mind either?"

"I will probably panic at least two thousand times before we get to the altar and yes I will change my mind but then I'll change it back, I swear.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"It doesn't matter." Clara felt as though her heart was going to explode. "Come here," she instructed, pulling the Doctor to his feet. She wasn't even sure how she felt. She wondered how long he had been planning this. It was unexpected and romantic and absurd and… perfect. "I would never have suspected you would ask," she murmured between small kisses, on his lips, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere she could reach. Happy. She was happy, she guessed. Just… not a level of happy comparable to anything she had ever felt before.

"I thought it was the sort of thing humans do when they want... forever."

"And you want that?" she questioned, pulling him closer, tugging at his clothes, running her hands through his hair, locking eyes with him, not even sure what she wanted. Probably everything all at once. Stupid, stupid, stupid, beautiful impossible man.

"Of course I do," he said, responding to her kisses.

"Doctor. My Doctor. I want it too. I want you all for myself," she murmured, smiling, kissing down his neck as he moaned softly. She would never get tired of hearing that sound, of the feel of his cool skin warming up rapidly under her touch. "Speaking of which..." She looked up and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him, letting her back press against the glass wall and pulling him firmly against her body, grinning a flirtatious grin.

"Clara..." he protested meekly, chuckling lightly. "We are alone but there are cameras..." She tried to silence him with a kiss. "...please, wait."

"No," she said resolutely with a smile.

"Don't you care if they see us?" he asked, taking hold of her wrists, trapping her hands between their bodies, leaning to kiss the top of her head.

"No," she challenged. "Since when do you?" Yes, she was so happy she felt drunk with it. She couldn't stop grinning spontaneously like an idiot. And she didn't care.

"I don't-" She pulled at the collar of his shirt with her teeth, then bit playfully at the junction of his neck and shoulder. "I mean-" The Doctor groaned and involuntarily rocked his hips slightly into hers. "Can't you wait until we get back to the TARDIS?"

"No. Shut up. Shut up, you have conjugal duties to live up to." She freed her hands from his loose grasp and unbuttoned his shirt impatiently, kissing his chest as she exposed the skin.

"We are not married yet... isn't listening to your husband included in _your_ duties?" he teased. Clara could feel the smile, the laughter in his voice.

"No. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, _shut up_."

She kissed him again as her hands tugged his shirt out of his trousers and found their button and zipper, and she smiled when he finally sighed in defeat against her lips, his hand fumbling for a second in his jacket pocket, taking out his screwdriver.

Somewhere on the ceiling, she heard a security camera beep as it got shut off.


	16. The Boss

**Prompt:** by apollostowel; Have you ever thought of a prompt where 12 turns the tables on the Boss, where he doesn't let her take control at all? Not like he's jealous, just a consensual thing between them. It would assume that they've had a relationship for a while. Maybe like an anniversary night or something.

**A/N:** This got really out of hand. It's way longer than my average chapter and took me ages to write even though I knew what I wanted to write. Anyway. Shameless smut. Established relationship (a kinky one).

**Title:** _The Boss_

**Rating:** M (smut / light bondage / orgasm denial)

**Words: **4166

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It's the night before Christmas. Not outside, of course, just in Clara's timeline. Outside the TARDIS it's mid-51st century, a beautiful starry night at the end of July, the lights of a small romantic restaurant disappearing behind their backs as the Doctor opens the doors of the time machine.

He's quick to send them in the Time Vortex and to turn towards her, his gaze running for a moment over her shoulders that her dress leaves exposed.

"Tonight. Was it good?" he asks, with a smirk. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it.

"It was perfect," Clara smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth.

It's one year tonight, one year of them. One year since one tentative kiss melting into another, and another, and into searching hands and whispered pleas and frantic lovemaking on the floor, more or less where they are standing now.

"You'll have to change your mind. I'm about to make it even better."

He bends to kiss down her neck, mouth open, tracing patterns on her skin with his tongue, spreading warmth through her body. Her eyes drift close as her hand finds his long hair and she tries to keep her legs from going completely weak. He's an unfairly good kisser, and she might have been distracted enough by his talent to tell him openly, a couple hundreds of times.

"Oh, really?" she manages.

"Oh, yeah," he whispers in her ear, gently biting a spot just below shortly after.

She turns in his arms and pulls him in a fierce kiss, tasting a hint of scotch.

It's not entirely like him to be so seductive, and she knows it's an act, a game, at least partly, but she can tell he's loving it. God knows if he hasn't a passion for bragging.

"Promises, promises. Will you deliver?" she teases.

"Don't I always?"

Unexpectedly, he lifts her effortlessly and hops her over his shoulder. She yelps involuntarily.

"_Doctor!_ Let me down!" She starts to giggle uncontrollably as she says it, and there's no way he's going to take her seriously.

"Not a chance. Tonight, Miss Oswald, I'm your boss."

~oOo~

"_Such a good boy." Clara runs her hand through the Doctor's hair, brushing grey curls damp with sweat off his forehead as he breathes heavily, fresh from a violent, shuddering orgasm. "You're so beautiful like this." She doesn't know why it's her thing but he looks so fucking perfect when he's completely naked, hands handcuffed behind his back, skin reddened and hot, eyes shut and head leaning against the backrest of the chair with exhaustion after hours spent begging her to let him come, not-so-secretly loving every time she said no. "Are you okay?"_

_He nods forcefully before another sharp breath. She kisses the top of his head sweetly, then frees him from the cuffs, kisses the bruises they've left._

"_Sometime…" she ponders, "just for once, maybe you could be the boss."_

"_Yeah?"_

_She enjoys control. Loves it, actually. But the idea of not knowing, of being in someone else's power, sounds heady if that someone is someone she trusts. If that someone is him._

"_Yes. Would you like that?"_

_He smiles. "Yeah. Yeah."_

~oOo~

The Doctor lays Clara on their bed, kissing her hard, his tongue warm in her mouth. It's extremely brief, though,_ too_ brief, and leaves her starving for more, but he slowly moves off her with a smile, never quite breaking eye contact, getting off the bed to stand near it. He towers over her, always, and more noticeably in this moment, and he knows she loves it. Loves how tall and thin he is, how sharp he looks in his best suit, the black one, with the elegant cravat and the thin white shirt.

"Undress for me," he requests. "Slowly," he adds when he catches the impish spark in her eyes as she rapidly reaches for the zipper of her dress. "Make me want you."

"Don't you always?" she teases.

He scoffs. She said she wanted him to be the boss, but she never said she would make it easy for him.

However, he doesn't respond to her bantering, and that's somehow a display of power too, in its own way.

He watches her scoop herself up to the centre of the bed, stand on her knees and tantalisingly caress her own body as she looks straight into his eyes, watching his pupils widen as her palms slide down her arms and then back up to meet at her sternum, parting ways again to squeeze her breasts lightly through the fabric of her dress. Her fingers tangle in its hem after she traces her sides, lifting the piece of clothing, revealing her upper thighs and just a glimpse of her underwear to him. She watches him shift his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

She never takes her eyes off his. She's still wondering what his game is, but apparently this -the eye sex- is part of it. 'I wish you were the one undressing me, touching me,' she tells him with her gaze, but if she has to be the one to do all the dirty work, she's bloody well going to have fun, and possibly give him a hard-on while she's at it.

Almost abruptly her hands disappear behind her back, unzipping her dress in one fluid move, letting it pool around her knees. The Doctor's mouth is slightly open by now, and she sees him linger on her bare breasts for a second before returning his gaze to hers, eyes wide and eyebrows raised with that wonder he reserves only for the most astounding beauty of the universe.

She smiles at his reaction and cups her breasts, massaging them briefly, eyes purposefully half-closed in only half-feigned pleasure, brushing her thumbs over her nipples that harden quickly thanks also to the cool air on her skin. She pinches them gently and moans a little, just for show. She goes as far as cupping her right breast and dip her head to lick at her nipple while she looks up at him and her other hand travels down to her stomach and to her knickers, pulling them down and wetting a finger in her arousal to circle her clit.

He's lightning-fast to get rid of his jacket and waistcoat and join her on the bed again, his hand closing around her wrist.

"Never said you could touch yourself," he half-growls.

He grabs her chin with his index and thumb and kisses her, his other hand firm on her arse, pulling her against him and letting her feel the very remarkable result of her efforts.

"You should have been more specific." He silences her with a new kiss, but his hands are busy this time, undoing his cravat. "I could do something about this," she murmurs seductively against his lips, her hand caressing up his thigh and briefly stroking over his erection, making him groan and push eagerly into her touch.

"Not yet," he states. "This is about you." He pulls back slightly and tugs his undone cravat from the collar of his shirt, eyes drifting down do his fingers as he toys with the fabric. "I'm going to blindfold you, okay?" He returns his eyes to hers. She nods enthusiastically as she grins, the thrill of not knowing exactly where this all is going sending a rush of adrenaline through her nervous system. "If you want me to stop, just tell me to."

She nods and takes him in for the last time as he teases her by brushing his cravat over her nose and her lips, making her shiver. She feels suddenly more aware that she's completely naked while he has most of his clothes still on, which only makes her want him more because she secretly loves his sense of fashion as much as his body, and maybe it's not much of a secret since she's lost count of the times she's insisted in shagging him fully clothed. Next he's tied the knot and she can't see a damn thing.

"Lie back, Clara."

Clara obeys, sitting down and then lying on her back, adjusting her position so her head finds one of the pillows. She parts her legs for him in an almost invitation because, hell, she wants him already. On the one hand she hopes he won't accept just now, because she doesn't want this game to end just yet, and on the other hand she_ knows_ he won't, because she knows how he wants, needs to see her eyes when they are making love. She's not sure how far he's going with the blindfold thing but it's temporary, she's nearly certain.

His weight shifts on the bed and she understands he's moving. Her fingers twist the sheets in her hands in anticipation. She jumps lightly when he kisses the corner of her mouth, she didn't realize at all that he was over her already. She closes her thighs a little to find his solid body between them. That's when he starts using his hands too, cupping her face, encouraging her to part her lips for him. He explores her mouth slowly, like it's the first time, in a wet kiss.

He proceeds following the line of her jaw with quick kisses, moving to her neck when she presses her head back to allow him better access, distributing a generous amount of sucking and of tongue in general that has her squirm beneath him and moan softly, hand grabbing his hair to try to hold him in place. He's quick to move then, and she squeaks when his lips find her navel suddenly, light but firm. It tickles, and her hips jerk upwards, her eyes widening under the blindfold.

She hasn't yet recovered when his hand lands flat on her stomach, holding her still, and his lips reappear on her left nipple, taking it in his mouth and sucking hard, making her cry out with the unexpected jolt of pleasure. His touch disappears again almost instantly and she lets out a frustrated sound. He chuckles. God, he's enjoying this. The bastard.

He bites her inner thigh. When did he get there? He takes her skin between his teeth and pulls gently, and it's a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Ow! Doct-"

The rest of her sentence gets lost in a loud moan because the Doctor is now making splendid use of his tongue, alternating its tip hard against her clit to the base flat, lapping at her zealously, humming in approval when her legs tremble and she whimpers.

Being unable to see heightens her other senses, Clara realizes. Everything is more intense without the distraction of seeing, from the wonderful work of his tongue to the thin material of his shirt, silky against the backs of her thighs when he settles her legs over his shoulders. She can only feel and imagine, imagine the familiar sight of his hair slightly dishevelled peeking between her thighs and his shoulders tensed in concentration.

The Doctor focuses the efforts of his mouth on her clit, sucking gently, making her gasp as he slips one of his fingers inside her, slowly. She arches instinctively into his touch. She's tempted to bury her hands in his hair to grip him tight and tug him closer, but she's afraid he'll pull back again and is content to just clench her fists around the sheets instead, breath becoming irregular as her climax starts to approach quickly.

He's the one to do his fair amount of acting now, moaning appreciatively against her skin as she rocks her hips, following the fast and insistent rhythm he sets after adding a second finger inside her. He curls his fingers upwards as he thrusts in and out of her, searching for the spots where she's most sensitive, making her bite down on her lower lip and tighten her grasp on the sheets so much her knuckles hurt.

She has completely forgotten by now that she's blindfolded, her eyes are tightly shut anyway as pleasure takes charge, hot and intense and setting her nerves on fire, sweat starting to cover her skin. The Doctor knows exactly how to make her come in just a few minutes and she can already feel her orgasm close, so close, her muscles contracting around his fingers and soaking them. She tries to lean her hips more into his touch, desperate for release at this point, she's almost there, crying out his name.

"_Doctor_\- God, _yes_, I'm almost-"

He drives his fingers out of her with a wet pop and kisses her hipbone. It takes Clara a few seconds to realize he doesn't lay a finger on her after that, his breath cool between her legs, teasing her. She doesn't want to believe he's actually going to do this, but simultaneously she knows he will.

"No. No. No no no no no. Please. Doctor."

How many times has she done the same thing? Countless.

"Yes, Clara?"

"Please."

She does grab his hair now, lost for words as her breath is still short, silently begging him to finish what he's started. He takes her hand in his, kisses it.

"Not yet. Only when I say so."

She can only whimper in frustration. "I hate you."

He chuckles and she feels his voice closer. His lips brush against hers chastely and he undoes the knot of his cravat, lets her look at him in the eyes. She glares at him and he smiles.

"You did ask for this."

"I still hate you," she says, but she pulls him close and kisses him, trying to ignore the throbbing need to come, her inner muscles contracting rhythmically around nothing.

He lets her deepen the kiss and she can taste herself as he shifts his body over hers, getting slightly lost in the kiss when she sucks on his lower lip and makes him moan. That's when she has an idea.

Silently, one hand tangled in his hair keeping him close and distracted in the kiss, she slides the other hand down her torso and between her thighs. In less than a second there's a bigger, stronger hand wrapped around her wrist. He breaks the kiss. Not so distracted, after all.

"What exactly do you think you're doing, Clara?" he whispers in her ear. The tone of his voice makes her shiver. He finds her other wrist and holds them together in his hand. Her wrists are thin enough for him to hold them firmly together, even though he can't close his fist completely around them. "I'll make sure you keep your hands where I can see them."

With his free hand he retrieves his cravat and starts to loop it around her wrists, watching her attentively as he does so, looking for a doubt or anything she's not telling him, but she can only smile. He's the one tied up normally, and she can't stop wondering what he's going to do next. This is an entirely new situation and it's even more exciting than she thought it would be.

The Doctor gently shifts her body closer to the headboard, then ties the other end of his cravat to it, her hands blocked above her head. He moves the pillow too until she adjusts her position and he's sure she's comfortable, then he retreats to the end of the bed and admires his work with a smirk. Her neck hurts for a moment in the effort of watching him, but she realizes almost immediately that she can use the headboard for leverage to lift her shoulders and look at him properly.

Locking eyes with her, he brings his fingers to his mouth and provocatively licks them clean, slowly, sending a new, hard tug of arousal straight to the base of her spine. She wonders idly if she could come just by watching him. The Doctor seems to read her thoughts somehow, because his lips curve in a smile while he nibbles at his middle finger. Maybe her need is just that evident in her eyes.

His graceful fingers undo the buttons of his shirt one by one with measured movements, then the garment is tugged out of his trousers and unhurriedly eased down his shoulders. He stands up to remove his shoes and socks and climbs back on the bed, standing on his knees between her thighs. He undoes his belt and makes a show of slowly pulling it from his trousers, letting the leather slide suggestively against her leg and making her breath get caught in her throat for a second. He tosses the belt on the floor however, and unzips his trousers. Clara lets her shoulders fall back down on the pillow in a mixture of frustration, arousal and disbelief: he's not wearing any underwear. All this time, when they were having dinner, when they were walking under the moonlight outside the restaurant, he wasn't wearing anything under his trousers. She has no idea why it's such a turn on to know this, it just is, and she's more impatient than ever to have him skin against skin again.

"Fuck," she murmurs. If she thought she couldn't get more frustrated than this, she was wrong.

"Language," he chuckles lightly.

To her silent surprise, he grabs her hips gently and turns her body so she's lying on her side, then lies down beside her, spooning her. For a moment she's confused, not sure about what exactly he wants to do, but it doesn't take her long to understand when his right hand lifts her leg so he can fit his hips between her thighs. His other arm sneaks under her body, around her, his head settles at her shoulders, his breath warm on her neck, his cock teasing her clit and the fabric of his trousers soft against her skin.

She smiles, letting out a sigh that melts into a small laugh. He's clever. So very clever. From this position and since he's so damn tall he can watch her face over her shoulder, or her profile at least, while at the same time taking her from behind, which feels like an inherently dominant position to her.

The Doctor rocks his hips forward leisurely, rubbing himself against her, tormenting them both in the sweetest way.

"Do you like my idea?" His voice is husky in her ear. He moves some of her hair out of the way nuzzling his head against it, then places a kiss to her now exposed neck. She moans softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said."

He sucks and nibbles gently at the junction between her neck and shoulder, making her gasp.

"Yes._ Yes_."

He hums his approval and adjust his position, finally entering her, thrusting into her so very slowly. The feeling of him hard inside her is well-known and all new at the same time. She wonders why they've never tried this position before. She can't take him too deep but she's tighter around him, her eyes fall close as she loses herself in the feel and the Doctor grunts softly against her shoulder. It's a positively erotic sound, low in his throat. What she likes about making love to him, aside from the obvious things, is how unrestrained, how open he is, he who is always so controlled and unreadable.

He sets an agonisingly slow pace, making her feel every inch of him sliding in and out of her. He keeps his mouth busy at her neck and shoulder, his fingers toying with her hardened nipples until she's crying out his name.

"Do you like it when I touch you, Clara?" he asks. "When I _fuck_ you?"

He never uses this kind of language, not even in the bedroom, so she can tell this too is part of the game. He obviously knows the answer already but for some reason she feels compelled to answer.

"Yes, _fuck_, yes, I do."

She's absurdly sensitive after almost reaching orgasm and nearly every thrust of his cock causes a new rush of wetness. And frankly being tied up and having him still half clothed as he talks dirty to her is straight out of a fantasy she wasn't even aware she had until now. Not being allowed to touch him is extremely frustrating, but the frustration turns into pleasure somehow.

He thrusts slightly harder into her.

"Can you feel how hard I am for you?" His breath is becoming uneven and heavy in her ear. "All without laying a finger on me. All just by watching you."

Fuck. She doesn't recall ever telling him how much she likes the sound of his voice and the fact that just his words can make her eyes nearly roll back into her skull is absolutely, completely unfair. Her breath rate increases rapidly and she can distinctly feel her inner muscles contract more firmly around him.

"You love it when I talk to you, don't you?"

No, she can't answer that, he already knows every single button she needs him to push, she shouldn't give him any more power. She _won't_ give him any more power.

He claims his answer by pulling gently at her earlobe, moving his hand from her breasts to her clit and moving it in circles in time with the strokes of his cock in and out of her, suddenly faster and harder now, building up his own climax.

"_Yes._"

She arches her back and pushes down against him in response, eyes shut, heat and electricity rushing down her spine.

"Yes what, Clara?"

There's probably a smile in his voice but now she can't really tell, her mind is too busy concentrating on how good this feels, his body inside hers, his mouth leaving possessive marks on her shoulder, his deft hand between her legs. Now more than ever her wrists battle with the knot of his cravat, she desperately wants to touch him, firmly press her hand on his ass and push him closer, guide his fingers in the rhythm she needs.

"God, Doctor."

At this point she's writhing against him and moaning softly at every thrust, new sweat appearing on her skin. She can feel the well-known tightening, the tension coiling between her legs. The Doctor groans helplessly when she clenches harder around him and his body shudders.

"My Clara. Come for me," he breathes.

She can feel his chest warm against her back, raising and falling rapidly, his hearts beating like drums. She wants to kiss him. To catch every sound he makes and let it reverberate through her bones. Just the thought makes her shiver. She tugs hard at the black fabric tying her wrists. Then, his fingers rub against her just a little harder and she tumbling over the edge, pleasure rippling down her spine, shaking her body as she cries out his name.

The Doctor buries his head in her hair, breath shallow as he thrusts through her orgasm, her walls tight around him, both his hands grabbing her hips until his body is jerking involuntarily into hers and then stilling as he comes, hard, groaning against her skin.

Minutes pass in silence, the only sounds in the room the ones of their breaths gradually returning to normal. He slides out of her carefully and they both let out a small whimper at the separation, bodies sensitive and hyperaware of each other.

He forces himself sitting with a sigh to free her wrists, asks if she needs water, anything, if he hurt her. She shakes her head and he leans in for a kiss. She kisses him sloppily as she massages her slightly bruised skin, doesn't leave his lips until she forgets to breathe through her nose and she's gasping for air. He gets rid of his trousers and there's a smug smile on his face when they eventually lie down under the blanket.

"That good, uh?"

"Shut up," she chastises, but she's smiling too. "Did _you_ like it?"

He scoffs. "Yeah. _A lot_." He pulls her a little closer and starts to run his hand affectionately through her hair, which spreads warm shivers on her skin. "I can tell why you like it so much. But I think I like it better when you are the boss. I don't think this is really my thing."

"Really?" she asks, surprised. "You were very good at it."

Another smug smile, and a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"Oh, were I now?"

She refuses to answer that. They're silent again as he strokes her hair and she adjusts her position in his arms, eyelids becoming heavy.

"I love you," she murmurs.

"I love you too." He nuzzles against her and just from the way he moves she can tell he's about to fall asleep as well.

"Tomorrow night I'm going to make you pay for making me wait, you know."

He freezes, taken aback, but then his body relaxes in a small laugh.

"I expect nothing less, boss."


	17. A Time Lord's understanding of

**Prompt:** Could u write a smutty chapter where The Doctor thinks that Clara died but finds out he was lied to and shows Clara how much she means to him?

**A/N:** I twisted the prompt a little. I hope you don't mind. Twelve thinks there's only one way to show Clara what she means to him, but she explains him that isn't true. Also I got carried away with the angst and basically Twelve is having a panic attack over the idea of having lost Clara.

For MrMrsImpossible: that falls into the "not the way I see the characters and/or their relationship" area. It's really hard for me to write the characters in a way that isn't the one I see. Maybe you could ask some other author?

**Title:** _A Time Lord's understanding of human displays of significance _

**Rating:** M (light-ish smut) **TW** for anxiety and panic attacks maybe? Just to be safe.

**Words:** 3720

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When they tell him, he doesn't believe them.

"The ship was crashing, she stayed to help the evacuation."

That, he can believe. His Clara, always risking her life for others. For him.

"She didn't make it."

This, he won't accept.

They tell him that they're sorry. That there weren't any escape capsules. That he should leave, get over it, carry on. They are truly sorry, they say.

They're not. They're brusque as the say it, even for his standards. He has been rude to them, according to Clara.

_"Stop being such a grumpy old owl to the people we're trying to help, it's counterproductive,"_ she's told him.

They leave him alone, but he doesn't leave. Instead he sits down, back against the door of the TARDIS, head leaning on the hard wood, concentrating on the buzzing of the electricity through the walls to overcome the silence. Everything is always so silent when Clara isn't around. The silence is like a void in his ribcage that he can't quite fill.

Before he knows it, he's hyperventilating. There's a painful pressure on his chest that won't let him breathe and seems to constrict his hearts, clenching around them. His mouth is open and he's breathing sharply, eyes bright, tears never quite falling. This version of him doesn't cry. Hardly shows emotion. He's been trying so hard to eradicate his emotions on Trenzalore, that regeneration took pity on him and finally gifted him -or cursed him- with this skill.

Useful skill, this one, during war. When you can't afford to dwell on the corpses of children you've watched grow up. Not so useful maybe when he just wanted Clara to know that he loved her more than life itself, but words didn't seem to say enough.

His hand clutches his chest. He can't breathe, can't get enough oxygen to his brain, to his hearts. He's going to die here. Fine by him. New life, new him. That way he can carry on. Maybe. Who's going to come out of this, he can't tell. A colder man. A worse man. It's always worse when he dies alone...

"Doctor? Doctor!"

His eyes pop open and this time he forgets about breathing altogether. Clara is standing there, less than 50 metres from him, a slightly puzzled look on her face, her orange space suit damaged and burnt in places but_ she's there_. She's _alive_.

"What are you sitting there for?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

The Doctor barely realizes that he's gotten up and is running to her, grinning like the besotted fool he is, shouting her name. He catches her extremely confused expression just before he can lift her in his arms, hugging her, holding her tightly to his chest as he spins her around, hearts nearly exploding with sudden, unexpected joy. He buries his face in her shoulder and doesn't let go, squeezes her against his torso until his arms hurt out of digging into her ribs and she lets out a pained sound.

"Doct- hurting me- _can't breathe_-"

Her voice is a weak, shallow breath and it shakes him, makes him almost drop her, only to catch her again. Her legs end up wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck as his hands land around her waist and on her arse, supporting her and holding her to him like you would with a child, but he doesn't notice and she doesn't complain. He beams at her.

"My Clara. You're okay."

One of his hands shifts to the back of her head, pressing her urgently against him and getting her chin to rest on his shoulder and his chin to rest on hers, breathing in the clean scent of her hair with his eyes closed. She's alive. Alive and here, in his arms. He's afraid to let go now for fear of losing sight of her again. She's so small, after all. Easy mistake. He kisses the side of her head and feels the silky softness of her hair on his lips. They taste of shampoo but smell of smoke. He should ask what she's been through, but he hardly trusts his voice. He keeps whispering into her hair, however.

"Clara. My Clara."

"_Your Clara_ would like to know what's going on. Not that she's complaining," she laughs softly.

The sound of her laughter squeezes his hearts with a mixture of delight and dread. To think he could have heard that sound for the last time today… he momentarily pulls her tighter against his chest before looking into her eyes again. His voice is hoarse.

"Saw the ship crash. Thought you were-" He trails off.

She shakes her head.

"Escape capsule."

He pushes a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, then slowly strokes her cheek with the back of his hand, terrified she might be just an illusion.

"_They_ said there weren't any."

There are tears threatening to fill his eyes again. He's not sure why they're there.

She smiles. Her legs tighten their grip around his waist as one of her hands leaves his neck to take his hand.

"They lied."

She kisses his knuckles, then looks up at him as though to make sure he is comfortable with it. Her lips are so warm.

"Why would they do that?"

He's unable to move his hand from hers. Her grip is so gentle, but so real he needs to hang onto it to keep himself from breaking into a million pieces. He feels his breath rate increase again.

Clara laughs. Outright giggles.

"You called them 'insufferable pudding-brained Z-level life forms'. I'm not sure what the last bit means but they looked pretty offended."

"Oh."

His hearts are hammering against his ribcage again. Did she risk being left alone on an unknown planet because of his lack of manners? All air escapes from his lungs and it doesn't seem intentioned to return.

"Yes, oh." A pause. "Doctor, I know you don't really need to, but _I _need you to look at me and _breathe_." She trusts his superior strength to hold her, and both her hands find his cheeks, taking his gaze to hers. She starts to draw slow, controlled breaths, and her eyes go so wide every time she inhales. He follows her rhythm, almost on instinct. "Yes. Good boy." His hearts slow down. Blood flows back properly to his brain. After long minutes, he can function at least partially, enough to process the thought that Clara could have died without him ever telling her what he feels for her. He doesn't know what it is he feels anyway. It's not love. Not only. It's respect, admiration and adoration. Affection, desire, need and addiction. It's plain and simple devotion, blind loyalty. It's the wish to keep her safe, happy, close, to never leave her side. He can't list everything Clara makes him feel. She makes him feel everything. "Don't be quiet. You scare me when you're quiet."

"I'll never stop talking again, then."

She rolls her eyes. "Why don't I ever shut up?"

He smirks. "Why indeed."

She smiles back. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't know. "I thought I had lost you."

She shakes her head, hands cupping his face gently.

"You haven't. I'm right here."

He lets his forehead sink against her shoulder again, concentrating on the beat of her heart. One of her hands caresses his hair comfortingly. She places a kiss in the soft mess of his curls and he looks back up at her at that.

There's concern in her eyes, she has never seen him so open after all. But there's something else, something he's been getting glimpses of ever since Christmas. A spark, a warmth, the hint of a promise that maybe –just maybe- he's not the only one whose hearts feel like they're going to burst with the intensity of all these feelings. There it is again, that confusing urge he has felt at times when looking at her. The urge, the very real and physical need to kiss her, his eyes dropping to her mouth and his breath getting caught in his throat. Only this time something is different. This time, the thought of losing her has brought him to his knees, both literally and figuratively, both physically and emotionally, and he can't keep himself standing. So he falls. He falls like you fall into bed after 48 hours awake, heavy and only half-consciously, not sure if you're really there or if you fainted halfway through the corridor and this is nothing more than a dream.

His lips touch hers, so softly at first, questioning silently. Her hand settles at the back of his head and she pulls him closer, pleading, kisses him more firmly and makes sure he falls fully, not a cell of his body left holding onto his insecurities. He follows and obeys, as he always does with her, quickly pressing his lips on hers again, repeatedly, head tilted slightly, his nose poking into her cheek. Her lips are soft and smooth, her small intakes of breath between every brush of lips sending shivers down his spine and warmth in his blood.

He opens his mouth to say something, but it must be something Clara doesn't want to hear because she silences him with her tongue in his mouth. He feels heat and need and responds eagerly to her kiss, holding her more tightly against his body. She's as light as a feather to him, but he can hardly stand as his knees go suddenly weak when she kisses him deeply as though her life depended on it and a jolt of electricity runs down his spine.

He breaks the contact, afraid to let her fall, reluctantly loosening his grip on her, letting her on her feet as delicately as possible. She puts her arms around him and pulls him closer with such concern and tenderness even his last barrier falls and he hands himself over entirely to her, falling on his knees again and burying his head against her chest, letting the tears fall at long last, pressing kisses on the fabric before him and lacing his arms tight around her waist.

He has thought Clara wouldn't, would never take all of him, never accept his every mistake and every weakness, but here she is holding him close, caressing his hair and kissing the top of his head, let him shake the shock out of his body through sobs and tears with little words in between, maybe only one word.

"Clara. _Clara._"

"It's fine. You're fine. I'm right here. Tell me. Tell me what you need."

"I need- I need-" She cups his face and forces him to look up at her, his vision blurred with tears. All the feelings he has bottled up in the last months are flowing out like a river, but he can't get his mouth to work, can't get his words to match his thoughts, he feels like he's going to choke on the words but he needs her to know, he needs to show her, needs to show her how much she means to him. He swallows, hard. "Clara, I-"

He tries, but he can't get it out. She looks at him sweetly, but not condescendingly, caresses his hair.

"It's almost night. Let's go home."

"Home?"

"TARDIS."

"Yes?" he asks, and what he means is if she's sure that the TARDIS is her home too now. Somehow, he thinks Clara understands this is what he's asking.

She nods firmly and pulls him to his feet.

Key in the lock, the doors opening, Clara pushing him somewhere. He's not sure where. He's in such a state of mind, he feels drained of all his energy. He's only following Clara's lead, letting her drive him. It's like he's recharging, like everything he's been repressing suddenly breaking free has exhausted his batteries, and surprisingly Clara seems to understand. She's had wobbles before, she's been scared, but now she's here, letting him rely fully, solely on her.

Her bedroom, her bed, the sound of the straps and zips of her spacesuit being undone. She's in her underwear, stripping him of his coat, his shirt, leaving his chest exposed, putting him to bed. She curls up behind him, her arms around his body, her legs entangled with his, spoons him even though she's little more than half him and presses her head into the back of his neck, and he feels strangely protected, safe. How does she do that, a small thing like her? Making him feel like everything will be okay, like everything has been cared for, taken care of. Making him feel _loved_.

"Clara, I-"

"Shh. I know," she interrupts. "It's okay. I know." She pauses for a while. Her next words are only whispered, quietly, into his hair, only for him to hear. "I love you."

He exhales weakly. He has longed for those words, for an explicit statement of her feelings, since he can't read them at all in this incarnation, but after all he knew already. So much she has done to show him, without saying the words. Her arms tighten around him and her hands slide to his chest, over his hearts. He covers her hands with his and presses them there, letting her feel his hearts hammering as he buries his face into the pillow. He needs to show her too.

"Let me make love to you," he murmurs, and he feels Clara smile against his skin at that.

"Are you sure?"

"Would you want me to?"

"Yes." There's a trembling in her voice and an irregularity in her heartbeat as she says it, as though she's faulty, as though he's infecting her with this absurd impossibility to talk. He tries to turn in her arms, but she blocks him. "Easy there, old man." More pausing, for a shorter time now. "I want you to, but you don't need to."

"But I- I need to show you-" His voice seems to be slowly working again. "I love you."

"You've shown me already, you daft alien. No one breaks down like that for- if not for- _God_, I had no idea you were keeping so much bottled up. You don't need to show me anything. That's not what you do to show- not really… It doesn't… it doesn't work like that."

"No?"

A small laugh. "No. It's just- something you want. You… you don't have to prove anything to anyone, okay? Especially not to me." Clara shifts a little behind him, takes a shuddering breath. "Let me make love to you."

He's so astonished he doesn't answer at all, busy thinking. This is his problem in this life, that he has lost most of his understanding of how the human mind works. Especially feelings. And love. Love deserves a mention of its own. Not that he has ever been excellent at it, but he's never been so blatantly wrong either.

Warm, soft lips on his skin, bringing him back to reality. He leans in, seeking more contact. Chaste kisses, on his neck where his hair shortens and then disappears.

"God, please say yes," she utters.

He nods vigorously, again unsure of how to speak an answer that seems so simple to her, and Clara's fingers slip away from his hands and draw circles on his stomach, delicately, teasing, almost tickling him, insisting at the areas that make his muscles contract and his body squirm. Only lips at first on the top of his spine and on his shoulders, short but unhurried kisses. Slower kisses then, her mouth open, her tongue tasting his skin, following the line of his spine, making him gasp almost unnoticeably as her hands explore his body more fully, tracing his cleavage, his biceps, his forearms, stopping to play with his hair there, making him hiss softly with light pain.

More hisses, of pleasure, when he can feel Clara's smile in her kisses up his back and she moves her hands, one to tease his nipples and one to palm the zipper of his trousers. His cheeks itch and a jolt of arousal spreads through his nerves. It seems she's trying to have him react as loudly as possible, and he could swear he hears her whisper a word of satisfaction and triumph after she draws the first clearly audible sound from him, making him moan with unexpected pleasure when she bites gently at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

She proceeds to place more bites along his shoulders and neck, sucking lightly at his skin, leaving little marks on him, labelling him as hers for everyone to see, making more moans and "Clara"s escape his lips while one of her hands starts playfully rubbing against his trousers, at his crotch, and the other caressing his inner thigh, where his skin is most sensitive. He hardens just a little too quickly and parts his legs for her as much as the tight confines of his trousers allow him, leaving Clara room to do as she pleases.

A small "_Oh_." decides to fall from his lips on its own accord when both of Clara's hands deftly work at the button and zipper of his trousers and she dips her right hand past his underwear, touching him so very gently it's almost painful and he has to, _just has to_ cry out for her. Her breath is hot on his back and her voice is low, husky.

"That's it. Tell me what you like."

She strokes him slowly but more firmly, causing sparks of pleasure and sharp intakes of breath, his hands clutching his pillow as he tilts his head to the side and buries his nose into it. He doesn't know what he likes. No one has ever touched him like this in this body and it's… intense. He's programmed to fit for her, he's custom-made for Clara Oswald and no one else. Her hand wrapped around him feels like the finest silk and blazing lava on his skin, he barely registers her other hand pulling his trousers and pants down his legs until she's cupping his arse and thoroughly exploring his thighs and lower back with slightly frantic curiosity. That adds to the pleasure, the idea of her mapping out every inch of him, and he groans quietly in response.

Clara smiles in between more insistent kisses along his spine that hardly let him think. He's shamefully sensitive there and she clearly understands it too well, suddenly deciding to try timing a long lick up the line of his spine with the motion of her hand sliding downward around his cock and _that_. _Oh_. _That_ has him moan just so, long and shuddering and deep in his throat, has his breath hitch and his stomach feel like it's flipping in a way he's pretty sure is not scientifically possible.

"_Clara_. I'm- I won't-"

"Last?"

He nods forcefully and she shifts slightly behind him, as though considering her options, then experimentally pumps him a little faster, flicking her thumb at the tip, leaving him grabbing at her wrist to keep her in place and thrusting helplessly and all too eagerly in her hand, pre-come wetting her fingers.

"God, that's-" she hesitates. "Lay on your back. God, I want to see your face."

She distances herself from him to let him do as he's told, and as soon as he's on his back she has got rid of her underwear and is straddling him, looking down at him.

"God," she breathes out. "You're blushing. Look at you. You're beautiful."

She cups his face and caresses his hair, lost in him. He feels like he's exploding with the need for- for what exactly he's not sure. For Clara, for more of her. For the first time a stray thought crosses his mind and he doesn't repress it, revelling in it instead: he wonders what it would feel like to be inside her, the heat of her body around his. That's what he wants. Her. Just- Clara. He settles his hands at her hips somehow, her skin is soft and smooth and he needs her closer.

"I- Clara. I want you."

She smiles outright blissfully. "That's it. That's perfect. _That's_ how it works. That's it."

She moves over him, guides him, lets him fill her. It's everything. It's an explosion of heat around him, of pressure inside him. Humans are so unbelievably hot, he's not sure how they remain clothed 99% of the time. It's a fleeting consideration, lost in the knowledge that this is Clara all around him, clinging to his arms with her hands firm on his, her thighs shuddering against his. She moves fast, almost desperately, envelopes him in a haze of pleasure and heat.

"Arms. Move."

She urges him to lift her, up and down on his cock, harder, faster. His eyes open to watch her lose herself in the feel of him, head thrown back, teeth tormenting her lower lip. Her fingers find her clit and she clenches hard around him, calls out his name, makes him growl with a kind of possessive need for her to repeat that, his name on her lips _like that_, filled with every emotion he wants to hear – none of which he can identify.

He's sweating and breathing fast beneath her, but not as much as she is. The idea touches him, that he should maybe tell her that she doesn't need to prove anything to him, either, but then she stills and her nails dig into his skin, she orgasms around him so suddenly, in a long, trembling wave, pulls him over the edge with her with such force every thought in his mind is forgotten, replaced with abrupt clarity.

This, her body limp in her arms and his grateful kisses on the top of her head, don't have to mean anything, aren't proof of anything but the pent up pressure. To show her what she means to him he only needs a look of his eyes, or tears rolling down his cheeks or the way he has held her earlier, and she only needs to look at him like this, her head on his chest and her eyes on his like the only thing worth watching, to show him that he means everything to her, too.


	18. Shining Red and Gold

**A/N: **I'm sorry for not updating for so long, but it has been an awful period for my mental health, and my laptop broke and I lost all my wips. I think I'm back in the game now, though! For those who are following my fic _Love Isn't Complicated_, I lost it all and I'm halfway through rewriting it, don't lose hope because I'm going to get there sometime soon. Thank you for all the support you've kept showing me even when I wasn't updating!

PS: I'm fully in an episode 10 denial

**Prompt:** How about a smut chapter were The Doctor gets a rare disease and the only cure is to have sex with Clara?

**Title:** _Shining Red and Gold_

**Rating:** M (smut).

**Words:** 3156

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The rain was knocking gently on the windows of her flat as Clara busied herself with grading some papers. She always tried to finish what she needed to do for school as soon as possible so she wouldn't need to worry about unfinished business in case the Doctor showed up unannounced - which was 99% of the times he showed up.

The familiar noise of the TARDIS materializing in the middle of her living room made her jump just a little, and she let out the shortest huff of frustration at the idea of leaving her work half-way, but just the idea of seeing the Doctor gave a rush of excitement and happiness, and intimately her heart jumped with the possibility of incoming adventures. She smiled, abandoning the red pen on the sofa and walking towards the big blue box.

She expected the Doctor to lean out of the doors looking for her, as he always did, but this wasn't the case. She barely gave it thought, though, and simply opened the door herself, stepping inside.

"Doctor?" she called when she wasn't immediately greeted by a vague but endearing offer of a planet or another. She circled the console. The Doctor was nowhere to be found. "Did you come here by yourself?" she asked the TARDIS, slightly surprised. "Where is he?"

The TARDIS gave a distinctly unhappy noise and the lights went out for a moment. Then, a small trail of lights turned on on the floor, indicating a path among the many corridors.

"Oh. Right. Neat," Clara murmured, more to herself than anything else. "He's alright, isn't he? Should I be worried?" she asked, louder this time, even though she knew that the TARDIS was telepathically connected to its occupants anyway.

Even as she said the words, Clara was already worrying. It was like an instinct, ingrained in her DNA, that pushed her automatically to worry for the Doctor as if he were an extension of her very being. The TARDIS replied with another upset sound, which didn't do any good for the growing pressure of the anxiety in Clara's chest.

Clara followed the lights in a long and complicated route, one she knew she wouldn't be able to repeat backwards without help, which only made her more nervous. Soon, she went from anxious to scared. She could hear someone moaning in pain, and she could recognize that voice between a thousand voices. The Doctor's voice.

Clara immediately started to walk faster, spotting a door left half-open at the end of the corridor.

"Doctor? Are you okay?" she asked as she entered without much hesitation.

"No. Oh, no no no no no," she heard the Doctor plead, voice broken. "Why did you bring her here? I told you not to. God, why don't you _ever_ listen?"

The Doctor was lying in bed, on his back, on top of dark blue sheets, rumpling them as he shifted his hips restlessly, face flushed, wincing. He had lost his jacket, jumper and undershirt, which lay now forgotten on the floor, but his skin was reddened and damp with sweat and he was breathing heavily, audibly, spreading his legs as much as his tight-fitting trousers allowed. One of his hands was clutching at his lower abdomen while the other tried to cover his eyes, which were shut in pain. Clara couldn't help noticing the tenting of his trousers as his fingers pulled at the fabric. She felt her cheeks warm up with that knowledge. The sight of him so out of himself, sweated and shirtless and so obviously aroused would have been unbelievably hot if Clara hadn't been able to see how he was clearly on the verge of tears with agony.

As soon as she came closer and climbed on the empty side of the bed, he tried to hide as much as he could of his pain, trying to stead his breath and still the rhythmic jerking of his hips, his hands gripping the sheets at his sides tightly for focus and balance, but Clara saw his body tremble violently with the effort.

"Doctor-" she started gently, knowing that getting the truth out of him wouldn't be easy.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Please. Oh, I wish you weren't here- no. Sorry, no, that's a lie. But you- you make so much more difficult... easier..."

"Doctor, you're rambling."

She shook her head. Seeing him in so much pain broke her heart. She hated to see him like this.

"I'm not. Just- it's killing me. Can't think."

"Okay. It's okay, you're gonna be okay," she soothed gently. "Tell me what happened. Take a deep breath."

She moved her hand to touch his forehead and check for fever, but he grabbed her wrist, then intertwining their fingers and holding her hand firmly.

"Please. Don't touch me."

"_You_ are touching _me_."

"So I am," he admitted after a moment, taking deep, controlled breaths.

"Tell me what happened."

The Doctor swallowed thickly. "I contracted a virus. I am- uh, going to be in a lot of pain in the next hours so… I'd appreciate it if you could- leave right now."

"Right, that's not going to happen. There's no way I'm leaving you like this. Next request? What can I do to help? Can you take something for the pain?"

"_Clara_-" he began, with that tone he used when he was convinced he had to make her see reason.

"I said _no_, Doctor," she cut short. "So. Painkillers?"

"Won't work."

He winced, his body shaken by a brief spasm.

"Okay. Doctor, look at me. Talk to me, what can I do?"

"Leave me alone, that would be great."

"Yeah, well, I just told you that's not going to happen. I'm not going to leave you like this." With her free hand she dried his forehead gently with a corner of the sheets. He shut his eyes more tightly in response. "Talk to me, Doctor. This virus. How do we cure it?"

"Intercourse," she heard him blurt out. "…a_h_, didn't mean to say that out loud."

"I'm- I'm sorry?"

"The virus, it- it- uhm, compromises my nervous system. Certain hormones act as natural antibodies."

Clara felt her cheeks positively burn and a lump form in her throat. She cleared her throat, trying to shake the feel away.

"Sex hormones? Then why don't you just… you know. _Handle_ it."

It was embarrassing to talk to _him _about this. He was the Doctor, her best friend… who she was in love with, had known she was in love with since that day on the Orient Express.

Even more embarrassing was how quick her brain was in supplying the most vivid image of the Doctor lying on his back, shirtless, much like he did now, trousers unzipped, leisurely stroking his cock, which was long and thick, hard and leaking pre-come, whimpering her name pliantly as he did so. Clara distinctly felt a rush of wetness at the apex of her thighs at that vision, her knickers getting slightly damp and plastered over her clit, now sensitive, in a frustrating and uncomfortable combination.

"What?" He frowned, momentarily confused, then grimaced. "No. My body- Gallifreyans don't work like that. It's- different hormones. When it matters. When… we're in love. It's slightly different for humans too. Much more for us."

"You have hormones for sex and for… making love?"

He nodded forcefully, breathing shallowly through his nose, lips pursed. "Love, affection… they're chemistry. That comes into play when we… well. Stimulates the production of certain hormones."

"Right." She bit her lip anxiously, thinking. "So, there's no one you…" she looked away, struggling to put the words together. "someone you'd like to… you know."

He opened his eyes very briefly to meet hers, then almost immediately turned to his side, facing away from her, as though ashamed of what she might think, afraid of her judgement.

God, why couldn't he just say something? She had hoped that… well, she had hoped. Hoped that the Doctor _might_ -just might- _maybe_ want _her_. Even if he had said he wasn't her boyfriend, even if he was an idiot and rude and _impossible_, well, she did want him. Did _love_ him. And she thought, at times, that he felt something for her too. But this version of him was never so upfront with his feelings, kept so much to himself that Clara realized she didn't know anything of what he truly felt. Sure, he was her friend and she was very dear to him, of that she had no doubt, but then? For all she knew, he could still be meeting River when he wasn't travelling with her.

"Doctor. Talk to me."

She touched his shoulder delicately, unsure if he would appreciate the contact. He turned his head slightly to look at her: his eyes were filling with tears. Clara wondered if they were because of pain or caused by a memory of someone he had once cared _that much_ about.

"Clara," he murmured helplessly.

"Look, I know it's not optimal but… if you want, I'm here. I mean- we're friends, you're my best friend. I could-" She trailed off.

Maybe it was selfish and manipulative of her to offer him that when he was in that state, but Clara couldn't help it. She didn't even know if she really wanted to help ease his pain or if she just wanted _him_, just once in her life. She found she didn't care either: what mattered after all was if it would help him feel better, not why she was doing it. Which, she supposed, did explain something.

"No," he answered eventually, and Clara thought it seemed to cost him a great deal to just form the word. "I'm a touch telepath, remember? When I- If we- I'd know. What you're feeling. That you don't… it wouldn't work."

Clara opened her mouth to answer, only to close it again. Her brain worked frantically on what he had said. He hadn't turned down her offer because he didn't feel anything for her. At least, he hadn't said so. He had said he would know if she didn't love him, but wasn't that implying _he_ did?

"Clara. Please, leave now, before I get worse. I'd like to keep what's left of my dignity intact." He said it gently, voice barely audible but steady in his resolution.

"Your- your dignity?"

"I'm going to be screaming. Crying. I don't want you to see me like that."

His breaths were already losing the rhythm he had forced himself to keep, becoming ragged and difficult.

She didn't know what to say at that. She didn't want to leave him alone, especially not like this, but if she couldn't help…

"Would it mean something…" she started at last, "would it _help_, if you knew I- that I'm- I'm in love with you."

She said the words, thrown there in the air quickly, like when you want to take off a Band-Aid.

Then, everything happened so fast, so suddenly, that the next thing Clara knew was that she was lying on her back, and the Doctor's lips were warm and firm on hers in a desperate kiss and it felt _amazing_ and she was kissing him back. She responded in kind to his kiss, tasting the salt of his sweat, opening her mouth to the questioning pressure of his tongue on her lips, gasping into him, breathing his air.

It was like receiving an electric shock, her body lit up abruptly feeling and taking and _wanting_. She buried her hands in his hair, grabbed onto his shoulders, his arms, anything that could pull him closer, get her more of him. She had wanted this for so bloody long and now, now she couldn't get enough. She could never, ever get enough of him, of his odd taste of caffeine and sugar, his comforting smell of chalk, his warm-cool skin and the lithe, strong muscles underneath, tense and hard now under her touch.

He kissed her blindly, frantically, obliterating all her conscious thoughts, his tongue hot in her mouth, caressing hers with urgency, his body plastered against hers. She spread her legs wide for him, demanding him closer. In her ears, nothing made sense but the wet sounds of sloppy, messy kissing. Not a millimetre between them, his bones hard on her skin, his hearts hammering in his ribcage pressed against hers, one hand supporting him and the other searching frenziedly, mapping, tracing her side to find the hem of her skirt. He tugged hard at the fabric, pulling it up to reveal her thighs, her hips, her plain white underwear as his mouth moved to her neck, kissing avidly and surprisingly expertly every inch of skin he could reach, easily drawing a gasping moan from her lips.

Two of the Doctor's fingers hooked at the waistband of her knickers and pulled, hard. The fabric tensed and dug into her side, until Clara heard it rip, bit by bit, and the pressure loosened until her knickers fell apart between their bodies.

"I'm sorry. _Clara_. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," he panted against her neck, rocking his hips shamelessly into hers. He was steel-hard in his trousers, and Clara found her ability to breathe had disappeared once again. "It's driving me mad, I can't stop-"

"_Please don't_," she said somehow, and she hardly recognized her own voice for how deep and husky it had gone.

"Oh, Clara. _Oh_."

He groaned when she rapidly slid her hands between her bodies and unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers with relative ease, slipping one hand down his underwear to touch him.

He nearly shouted, nose pressed into the curve drawn by her neck and shoulder, as she palmed him somewhat shyly, took him in hand.

He felt, well, human. Warm and leaking. She wrapped her fingers around him more firmly, slid her fist down to the base. Thick, a gap between her index and thumb. The Doctor whimpered and pleaded against her skin. She gasped involuntarily, picturing what she couldn't see, and felt herself grow wetter. She pumped him experimentally a couple of times, and found him so close already, pre-come wetting her hand. She slid her other arm around his waist to lower his trousers, his underwear, and to pull him closer to her.

"_Clara_. Clara. Please."

She adjusted her legs around him, to better accommodate him, and guided him inside her. He gasped, and his body jerked forward, pushing all the way inside her. Clara let out a high-pitched moan, fisting his hair tightly.

The Doctor panted into the hollow of her throat, and Clara knew he was trying to control himself, keep himself from thrusting hard into her as her muscles were still contracting and relaxing around him, getting used to the feel of him. Clara tightened her legs around his waist, encouraging him to let go, to take what he needed. She moved one hand to his arse and firmly pushed him, showing him a rhythm.

"_Clara_, Gods, I-"

"Okay, okay, okay. Just, let go. I'm right here. Just- I love you, alright?"

She realized she had to make him feel good, feel loved, feel wanted, otherwise maybe the cure wouldn't work. She caressed his hair, pressing his head against her neck as he kissed her there almost reverently. He began to thrust into her, fast, and hard, making her moan, and she wanted to cry for how good it felt and how wrong at the same time, because she had no idea if this was merely a medicine, a cure for him or something that mattered. Because it mattered to Clara, the only coherent word she could manage being his name. Oh, how much it mattered. Holding him in her arms and feeling his heartbeats against hers, feeling his scent fill her nostrils and loving it so much she wanted to get drunk in it, those were things Clara had dreamed of, and she hardly could focus on the pleasure setting her nerves on fire for how much _everything else_ mattered.

She was unfocused, and not close enough, and felt the Doctor's body still and his orgasm fill her as he suppressed a shout into the pillow, just next to her head. In the frenzy of the moment, it sounded to her a lot like her name, but that might have been just her imagination.

"I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry," he murmured, pulling out of her.

Clara almost whimpered at the loss, and tugged him closer, eyes closed, not willing to meet his gaze yet.

"It doesn't matter. Are you okay?"

She tried to regulate her breath and ignore the throbbing pulse of _need_ at her core.

"Of course it matters, Clara, I-"

"Shut up. Are you feeling better?"

"I am, the pain's easing down. I'm fine. _Clara._ My Clara, please, look at me."

Reluctantly, Clara looked. He hovered over her, his weight on his elbows. There was sadness in his eyes, and Clara wondered why.

"I never wanted our first time to be like this."

"But you- You wanted _what_?"

He smiled.

"Oh, Clara. You have no idea."

He dropped his forehead gently to touch hers, his lips inches from hers, and suddenly Clara _felt him_. She knew immediately what she was feeling. His mind in hers.

He pulled her into his thoughts, bathed her in them, and all he allowed her to see was shining red and gold, something so huge she couldn't quite make out what it was for a long moment. Then she understood, and his feelings washed over her. Love, admiration, adoration, an intensity of feeling, of need, of affection so big Clara couldn't take it in all at once.

Then, the Doctor lifted his forehead from hers, and the sensation faded away.

"There are no words to describe what I feel for you, Clara Oswald."

"I'm sorry I doubted you," she said automatically, hating the idea of having thought he didn't love her.

"Don't be. I'm not very good at this, am I?"

"I'm crap at this, too." Expressing feelings, not their area. Bad timing, in that they excelled.

He remained silent, delicately tracing the line of her jaw with the tip of his index. He touched his lips to her just barely, just for an instant, and it made Clara shiver.

"Let me demonstrate," he said, and Clara nodded.

Clara thought of sex as something fun. Maybe a bit dirty, a bit private, a secret to be shared between two people. Something to do to feel good and make someone else feel good. The Doctor destroyed that concept for her, forever. He touched her, and kissed her, and made love to her, with reverence, with feather-light touch, with amazement and devotion in his eyes and his voice, and Clara felt _worshipped_. If love had been the Doctor's religion, this would have been his sacred ritual, and Clara would have been his goddess. And she was.


End file.
